Break Out
by Number One Fan of Journey
Summary: Sequel to The Rules. The nations that have made it home refuse to leave their friends for dead, but the island is well-hidden, the trapped nations' conditions are deteriorating, and a mounting problem around the world threatens everyone involved.
1. Yet So Far Away

Author's Note: And so we have come to the sequel of _The Rules_. I thank you for your patience (especially during the total fanfic hiatus of NaNoWriMo) and for your support, which I hope will continue.

Such support would be evidenced by reviews, in case you were unsure.

* * *

_Bartholomew_

A blaring siren cuts through my sleep over and over until I finally roll over and turn off the alarm clock. Allowing myself one last second of lounging with my face in the pillow, I get out of bed, put on slippers, and walk to the kitchen. Kettle on the stove, I step out to get the paper and look it over indoors.

It doesn't take much browsing before I find something relevant.

"**Studies of International Bombings Continue**

DUE TO the cooperation of several government agencies, more light has been shed on the recent series of explosions felt around the world."

I set the _Telegraph_ on the dinner table and get some toast started before coming back to it.

The beginning is just a recap of the events we had already figured out by yesterday. The article does have a figure with the locations of the dozens of bombs, so I fetch the list of the countries that were on the island. All of the twenty were hit but Liechtenstein, though Italy only had one explosion.

On top of that, quite a few countries outside the island—Egypt, South Korea, and Philippines, to name a few—are on the list. It almost makes me think that this and The Rules are unrelated, but there's enough overlap to keep me suspicious. It looks like fifteen of the explosions were in unrelated countries, and that seems like an awful lot of effort for some sort of diversion, but there could always be something else planned.

The shrill cry of the kettle interrupts, so I start steeping my tea and go back to the article and list. It's quite a significant amount of discrepancy—more than enough for another island.

Pausing, I stare at the map of affected nations for a moment before fetching a phone. The toast comes out while Germany's phone rings, so I toss the food on a dish and set it next to the paper.

There's a click on the other end of the call. "England?"

"Eh?" I pause for a second before realising I'm not on my mobile. "No, just Bartholomew. Sorry—went for the wrong phone."

He grunts in response—I can almost see him give a curt nod. "What is it, then? Any new developments over there?"

"Not that I've seen yet." Shouldering the phone, I smooth out the paper and lean over the map. "I was just looking at the list of bombings—there were quite a few outside the nations you said were on your island, and I wanted to make sure they hadn't ended up on an island of their own, or anything else. Have you talked to Korea recently? Or Philippines, or Australia—"

"I know Korea's fine," he says. "I'll find a list of the others and check on them, though."

"Okay, great. I'll keep investigating things over here."

"Keep me updated." He hangs up.

Pushing the disconnect button, I hurry back to the living room and replace England's phone.

Peculiar just how used to this place I am. It's not as if I live here—by any legal definition, at least—but when my job is assisting with all of his nation-work, there's so much for the both of us to do we may as well be locked in here if there's not a meeting elsewhere. It's like the idea that one isn't really friends with someone unless he can wander to their refrigerator and help himself. Of course, I'd really rather not poke through some of the things England keeps in his fridge.

I do dare to get some jam that looks store-bought before settling with my breakfast and the rest of the article.

The remainder of the first bit is nothing new. All of the explosions were at the same time except for the Russian one—which was exactly an hour earlier, so maybe someone ended up in the wrong time zone—and most of them near airports. None of the security videos actually saw the bombs before they went off, let alone those who left them.

I have to force down the next mouthful of toast. Stomach squirming, I fetch an antacid and make myself focus on the article again.

The lack of damage the bombs left seems to be the most suspicious aspect at this point. One theory says it's probably some sort of "statement" against terrorism. Another theory says it's somehow a failed terrorist attack, though even the writer thinks that's a bit far-fetched. Anyone that could organise dozens of followers to set off bombs no one saw round the world could figure out how to get them into a crowd and give them more bang.

The next theory might actually be compatible with the island, though it doesn't have much evidence. Some CDC fellow says that something blowing bits of itself all over a populated area near an airport could easily be an attempt to spread a bioweapon. No deaths have been reported from anyone near the explosions, but it makes slightly more sense for scheming geniuses to not know how to make a virus than a bomb.

I wonder how that would tie in, though? This attack failing could be a good sign for the island. If it's all the same plan, they could just let England and the others go. I still doubt that, but it's a possibility.

So, why would launching a bioweapon necessitate making nations kill each other? Were they hoping it would somehow trigger wars here? Are they just trying to kill everyone? In that case, I can't tell why the only bomb in Africa was Egypt, but I guess that could have been part of the plan, too.

At least it doesn't seem to be working so far. It's only been a day since the explosions, and we've yet to track down the island, so there's no jumping to conclusions just yet. We'll just keep it up, step by step, meeting by meeting.

Speaking of which, there's a teleconference at 10:00. I should probably remember to shave.

I finish up the article and my breakfast and make myself look decent for the day. I then proceed to slump in my chair in the office and start on paperwork for the morning.

The papers are piling up like mad. Of course, right now I have to do all of the work rather than half or so. It's not as if England can help not being here, though. He's been known to dump all of the work on me on certain occasions, too, so it's something I've handled before. Still, I have no way to get his input, and there are all sorts of other things to look at because of the Olympics... Why did he even want to host this thing, anyway? It's nothing but more work.

Oh, I won't complain. It's not like I have anything better to do.

So I trudge through a few hours of paperwork before 9:50 mercifully comes round. Finishing one last signature, I push myself away from the desk, turn on the computer, and stretch a bit. The VoIP loads, and I wander about the living room trying to get some blood to my legs before returning.

Quite a few of the others are already in the meeting room. Some chairs are still empty, while a few blank white screens stand in place. Some of them might be for nations, though I've been under the impression most of the ones who know the situation have made it to Russia. Possibly some of those will be showing some of the other assistants.

I'm really not that familiar with most of them. I don't usually attend any meetings myself, just make sure England gets to them and wait outside double-checking all of the appointments. I have worked a bit with Jules, mostly because nothing positive tends to be done in meetings between England and France without anyone to keep an eye on them. If it's not an issue involving other nations, we're the chaperones. I hear the same happens for Japan's and Russia's assistants—I don't remember their names at the moment—and probably some others.

Maybe we should all have a get-together sometime, if we ever have the time. I don't know them well enough to say they all do the same things as me, but we must have a lot in common.

I can't quite make out the faces coming onto the screens from this camera angle, and when the meeting is called to order, we don't start with any personal introductions.

"We will tackle each known issue in the order they appear on the agenda," Germany says. I note the paper laid on the table in front of my screen but can't make out anything but "16 July 2012".

"No questions or comments pertaining to an issue other than the one at hand will be tolerated. We will begin with the process of finding the island. America?"

"Okay," starts America, getting to his feet, "so I've taken copters all over the place where the island's supposed to be. I hung around for a couple of nights, too, to check out the stars, and, adjusting for the days that have passed since I last saw them from the island, I was totally right where the island was supposed to be. There's nothing but water, though. I stuck a hand in the ocean and everything, too, so it's not just cloaking or something."

He puts his hands on the table and leans onto them. "So, given all the evidence, it's obvious the island isn't actually there. Which means the aliens must have had us in some underground chamber with artificial stars."

Germany looks at him sideways.

"Okay, okay, so it doesn't really _have_ to be underground," America concedes. "That just made the most sense to me. So anyway, the fake coordinates were probably their attempt to lure us into a trap, but the aliens know not to mess with me, so I was able to spoil their villainous plans!"

"Really, aru? Why is it always aliens with you?"

America turns on China. "What else is it supposed to be? Some freaky illusion chamber, or..." He thinks for a minute, then his eyes go wide.

Slamming on the table several times, he says, "No! This is exactly like the ending of _LOST_! So we're all actually dead right now—"

"Shut up!" China covers his ears. "I haven't finished that series yet!"

America raises his eyebrows. "Dude, what have you been _doing_ the past two years?"

"Making my economy better than yours."

"Burn!" Korea chimes.

America, mouth open, points an accusatory finger at China.

"Are there any relevant comments?" Germany interjects. "Alternate theories, perhaps?"

He looks round the table, and I shake my head when his gaze comes to me. No one else seems to have any ideas at the ready.

"All right." Germany adjusts the papers in front of him. "Everyone, feel free to contact America with any other ideas pertaining to the search as you come upon them. Next, status of nations still on the island. Lithuania?"

Dipping his head, Lithuania rises to his feet as America, still having a stare-off with China, slumps into his chair.

"There haven't been any notable changes since the last meeting," the Baltic says. "Threads and scraps have continued to appear at the seats of Poland, Spain, Romano, and Italy."

At the last name, Germany seems to relax the slightest bit, though he still glances over at China. The Asian doesn't meet his gaze.

"No one has left any more notes for us," Lithuania continues. "Estonia's suitcase still hasn't come up, though, so it's either in someone else's hands, or..." He looks down at the table. "...he could be keeping an eye on it, but since he hasn't been moving much, that's a bit dubious."

Clearing his throat, he continues, "There haven't been any more clues on Canada's seat, so I don't have any more explanation for the jawbone. Nothing else has come up at Liechtenstein's or England's, either. I've called each of them a few times in case they escaped, but there have been no answers from them. Canada's land line has somehow been disconnected recently, but he hasn't picked up his cell phone—"

He's cut off by a screech as France shoves his chair back from the table, pulls his jacket on, and hurries out the door. The brunette watches after him nervously for a moment before continuing.

"A few of the scraps have had some blood, but nothing significant—probably just scratches from the brush." He dips his head again, grasping the arm rests of his chair. "That's all I have to report."

Germany nods. "Any comments or questions concerning that?"

America raises his hand. "Are you sure about all of that?"

"Um... yes," Lithuania replies, sitting down.

" 'Kay. Just making sure." America lowers his hand and, leaning back, gestures back to Germany to continue the meeting.

Interlacing his fingers, Germany makes a last call for questions and says, "Then next is Japan. Any updates on the bombings?"

Japan rises, giving his spiel. It's not much more than the article I found earlier.

"I," Germany adds once the Asian has finished, "have contacted most of the other affected nations since this morning. No one seems to be in any worse condition than us, and they've all been at home. I haven't yet called all of them, but it's probably safe to assume they haven't ended up on an island of their own."

Japan nods in acknowledgement, and Germany asks for any more comments on that.

"That seems to be the extent of the material covered in this meeting," Germany finally says. "Are there any questions of a general nature?"

"Yeah," America says. "Can we go have a _LOST_ marathon at my place?"

Germany sighs. "Not _that_ general."

"What general, then?" America leans his chair back onto two legs. "Patton?"

"This meeting is over," Germany deadpans, picking up his papers and getting out of his chair.

Some of the other nations get up to leave, while others gather in clumps to converse. I watch until something leads Switzerland to chase Korea round the room at gunpoint before I log off.

Things aren't looking too well on England's front, then. But the others are still working at it, so I'll just stay in the loop and contribute what I can. At this point, that's not much more than making sure he won't have too many vast mounds of paperwork when he gets back, but helping is helping.

With an exhale, I grab a pen and get back to work.


	2. Hearts Broken in Two

Author's Note: And so the quest continues.

I'd like to know if anyone has cover ideas for this (or for _The Rules_, for that matter). I really can't come up with anything, so input would be nice. Or maybe you could make one for me. Or maybe a few could make some for me, and I'll hold a contest with a oneshot reward. Depends on who's interested.

If you are of the interested party, let me know in a review. If you are not, let me know in a review. If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain, you can keep that to yourself, but review anyway.

* * *

_France_

I walk up to Canada's house not sure what to expect. Maybe he's not even here. But if his phone got pulled from its jack, someone has to have been here, and it certainly doesn't look like anyone's broken in. And I don't see any reason someone would walk in and unplug the phone unless they're a bit off.

Given Japan's report, that might just be Canada's state. While I'd hate to see the poor thing with his mind wrecked, half of it is my fault, and I need to make it right. It's going to be difficult, but the last thing I want to do is murder my little brother and pretend everything's okay.

Steeling myself, I raise my arm and give the door a few good raps. No one comes to the door. I prod the doorbell, and it rings mutedly through the walls. It still fails to summon anyone.

Maybe I shouldn't be so sure he made it back. Maybe his little bear knocked over the phone or chewed through the line. Maybe one of his friends or provinces tried to visit and didn't notice that they messed with it. Maybe it's just the fault of whoever provides his phone service.

Yeah, it... it could be any number of things. I probably should have thought this through a little more before hopping on the first plane over here.

I just really need to talk to him. Of course I'll jump at any chance that he could be back.

I exhale, taking a step back without turning away from the door.

You know, maybe he just didn't hear me. I know he keeps his key in one of the windowsill boxes.

Pushing aside flowers that need to be watered, I pick out the glint of metal in the dirt and unlock the door. It swings open, but no alarms go off. Replacing the key, I step inside carefully.

"Canada?"

The lights aren't on, but the windows are letting in quite a bit of light, so it doesn't mean no one's here. Actually, it smells like something's burning at the moment.

Shutting the door, I follow the acrid tang in the air until I end up in the kitchen. Just beginning to send up smoke is a roundish blob of black in a pan on the stove. I hastily move it away from its heat source before noticing the heaps of ingredients that more or less label this a pancake.

What, did England end up here? That would really make more sense than Canada coming up with something like this, though it could have been the work of about anyone else. Maybe even America—but he's not in this part of the world at the moment, is he?

"France?"

I jump, knocking over a few measuring cups and sending up a little cloud of flour. Waving it out of my face, I look over to see the figure wandering in behind me. In pajamas and a single houseshoe, he stops and looks me over with his hollow-cheeked face. His hair doesn't look to have been brushed recently, but it's still pretty fabulous.

With a cry, I lunge and hug him. He stiffens at first but slowly relaxes.

I pull away, making sure it really is Canada, before it starts to seep in just how bad he looks. He must be nearly fresh off the island.

"So," I start, not sure what to say at this point, "how have you been?"

"Um..." He scratches by his ear. "I'm not completely sure. All right, I guess."

His gaze falls on the pan and its ruined contents, and he rubs his forehead, stepping over towards it. "I was making that earlier, wasn't I?"

"It looks like it."

He dumps the burnt-up mass into a trash can, and I sidle up to him, taking the handle.

"Here—how about I make something for you now that I'm here?" I say, sliding it out of his hand. "Or, if you've eaten lunch too recently..."

"Oh, no, I haven't." He blinks. "Um, that would be fine. Thanks."

"No problem." I run some water over the pan and look over my shoulder at him. "I know it doesn't even begin to make up for things, but..." I turn back towards the stream of water. "But... I-I really am sorry for..." My throat's going so dry it's hard to get out the words. "For turning on you, like I did."

I scrub the pan clean before realizing I haven't gotten a response yet. A look behind me confirms Canada's still there, though he's staring at the air, his not-quite-closed mouth in a frown.

"Canada?"

He shakes his head, looking back over at me without changing his expression. "Sorry, but... what exactly was it you did to me?"

I blanch, turning back to the cooking.

C-Canada... I know you can be passive-aggressive, but this is just cruel! Though I guess it's not as if I don't deserve it...

"I, um..." Swallowing, I start putting some batter together. "I took Japan's sword and... and cut-cut off your head a-after you fell asleep."

I drop the stirring spoon and spin to hug him again. "And I regret every second of it! I would never want to hurt my little brother! I-I just wasn't thinking straight, and—that doesn't excuse it, but..." I pull back, wiping away sparkling tears as I try to figure out what else I have to say.

Canada looks at the ground, hugging himself a bit."Okay."

"What's okay?"

"Huh?" He looks back up. "Oh, just... So, that was real." He nods.

Back to mixing, I glance at him, eyebrows low. "What do you mean? Of course it was real." I turn back towards the bowl. "I... would much rather it not be, though."

He nods again, staring at the wall. "Sorry. I'm just trying to sort it all out. A lot of—" a tremor creeps into his fingers—"a lot of bad things I remember, but they don't all make sense, and they don't all fit together." He looks back at me. "Did I ever kill you?"

I jerk back a bit. "No! Of course not."

"Okay." His gaze drags to his feet. "Okay."

He stays like that for a minute before blinking and tugging at his loose shirt. "I am not dressed yet, am I?" He glances at a clock, then at me. "Sorry. I'll go change." He looks down at his one bare foot and raises an eyebrow.

"I don't mind," I say, but he's already heading out of the kitchen. With an exhale, I turn back to the job at hand. It hardly takes much effort on my part to make crêpes come out perfectly, but it'll be nice to focus on something more comfortable than the real reason I'm here.

Two panfuls of batter are fried perfectly before a scream rips through the air. Ducking for cover, I try to figure out what's going on by looking around wildly.

Wait—this is Canada's house.

Canada!

Scrambling back to my feet, I grab a free frying pan—these things _hurt_—and hurry towards the screaming that still hasn't stopped.

Canada is in his room, dressed now and backed up against his bed. Arms in front of him protectively—though nothing else is in the room—he just keeps screaming until he sees me. Without picking himself up off the ground, he scrambles over and latches onto my shin, sort of hiding behind me and whimpering.

I still haven't found anything remotely threatening in this room.

"Canada?" I start uncertainly, looking back down at him.

With a gasp, his head snaps up towards my face, then towards the wall and back to me.

"H-help," he gets out, gripping my leg tighter and looking back at the wall with eyes glazed in terror. "It's too late now. The immortality's gone. I can't afford to die again. I don't want to die. Pl-lease don't let me die!"

Sobbing, he burrows farther behind my legs.

"C-Canada!" I lower myself, nudging his head up. "Just—look! This is your house! You've made it back, you're safe, and..."

He looks to humor me, but not one bit of color comes back into his face. I get the creeping feeling he's not seeing the same thing as me.

Curling his fingers up in the loose bit of trousers over my ankle, he just keeps whimpering.

"Don't let them kill me." His voice is such a whisper I can barely hear it. "Please don't let them kill me. I d-don't want t-to d-d-die..."

I sit down carefully and put a hand on his shoulder. "No one's going to hurt you."

There's really nothing else I can do as he stays there, crying, back hunched up in anticipation of some killing blow I can't begin to imagine.

After some time he finally takes deep breaths and pulls himself away from me. Still sniffing, he looks up at me, not so much terrified as lost.

"Are... you feeling better?" I start, not sure exactly what to say or if he'd even hear.

"Um... yes? What was I...?" Pulling off his glasses, he rubs around his eyes with his fingertips. "Was I...?" He sighs, putting the crooked glasses back on and looks at me sheepishly. "Sorry. I... need to stop doing that, eh?"

I open my mouth but give up on trying to say something. Instead I just get to my feet and help him up.

With one last sniffle, he clears his throat and looks into the hallway. "Oh! I didn't interrupt your cooking, did I?"

"Er—no, it's fine. I was at a decent stopping place."

"Okay, good." He exhales and starts out the door, and I numbly follow.

What was that? And it's happened before? My little Canada is just having mental breakdowns—often? Even if this time he didn't hide from me... What else does he see? How much of this is my fault?

Just before we get to the kitchen, his knees suddenly give out, and he's on the floor before I can catch him. With a yelp, I swoop down and pick him up. He gets his weight back on his feet and wobbily nudges my hands away.

"Sorry." He smiles a little bit. "I don't think I've eaten in a while."

I charge past him, back to my work. "Well, you'll never have to worry about that!" I get back to the fillings with renewed vigor. "I am going to stay here and make sure you eat your fill of fine food every day until you're back to health!"

Reheating the crêpes a bit, I finish up the mix of cheeses and start slicing and dicing the ham.

"You know, France..."

I start a bit—I promise I didn't forget he was back there, really—and glance back at Canada.

"...you don't have to do this to make up for things." He leans against the doorway. "I forgive you. Really." He looks off to the side. "It's not like I was any nobler in the end, anyway."

He is once again tackled by me, wailing his name. He just sighs a little bit.

"You don't have to feel this sorry for me," he mumbles, eyes closed. "I may not know for sure what all happened on that island, but I did my share of terrible things. And I know—" his voice breaks—"I bludgeoned England to death, and he's—and he's still there... I-it was too late, and I-I knew it, and I killed him, anyway, a-and days and days later, he's still there rotting..."

I pull back a bit, gripping his shoulders and giving him a little shake. It doesn't snap him out of crying, that's for sure.

"No, no," I say quickly, shaking my head in case he didn't get it. "America killed England a while after you did. He came back, I promise, and I bet he'll come back again this time."

He's silent for a moment , but then he looks up at me, jaw and eyebrows set. "No. That's not right. He's still dead! I killed him, and he's still dead! I know that! Don't try to make me feel better!" He grabs the front of my shirt. "I know what I did! Don't you lie to me! I killed him, and he's still dead! _Still—dead_!"

Back slammed against the doorframe, I just stand here and make choking noises. I have never heard him scream at someone with this much frenzy in his eyes. Never.

He glares at me wordlessly for another moment before his gaze slowly falls. Breathing heavily, he unclenches his hand from my shirt and lets his arm drop.

"Just..." He backs away, few more tears sliding down his face. "I know he's dead. I promise he is. I just..." He shakes his head, turning away. "I'm sorry. Go-go back to the cooking." He takes a step into the hallway. "Call me when it's ready. I'm just—I'm just going to sit alone somewhere for a minute."

I nod without much thought and go back to the crêpes. It's not much longer at all before they're finished—not long enough for me to forget all about Canada again. I at least haven't heard him screaming for a while, so... that's good...

He floats back in when I call him. His gaze is blank and not particularly directed towards his dish, but I do catch him drooling.

"A little too ready to eat?" I say, trying to smile.

He looks at me, eyebrows raised, so I point to the offending corner of his mouth. He feels around it for a while before finally wiping it away.

"Oops." He starts for the dining room, rubbing his chin. "I still don't have the feeling back in my jaw."

At once I remember the jawbone on the meeting table, but I don't think I want to know the story, and I don't think he would be confident enough in remembering it to tell me.

How long ago was that, though? And it's just one part of his face—shouldn't it have healed completely by now?

Oh, that doesn't matter. All that matters is that he's safe, and he's going to get better. All of him.

He has to.


	3. Pick up That Telephone

Author's Note: Well, I was going to finish this chapter yesterday evening, but my friends and I decided to have a spontaneous _Hetalia: The Beautiful World_ watch-a-thon. This, of course, consisted of only two episodes, but somehow it led to us watching the entirety of season four, and then one friend brought her _Ouran High School Host Club _DVD...

So, yes, that day ended with this chapter at 1,047 words, but I worked on it all day today. Now, being the gracious host I am, I certainly wouldn't require you to put that much effort into a review—but taking a few minutes would be quite kind.

* * *

_America_

I listen to the Carly Rae Jepsen song for a minute before I realize it's my phone. I should probably stop changing my ringtone so often.

" 'Sup?" I say, putting it to my ear.

"Hey, it's France."

"Hey." I cram some burger into my mouth. "So, 'sup?"

"Well, first, I'm not sure if the news has gotten around yet, but Canada's back home."

Bits of food go flying out of my mouth as I try not to choke any more than I just did. It takes a few good glugs of coke before I can respond.

"Seriously? Sweet!" Not that I wasn't going to save him if he stayed on the island, but this is probably easier on him. Getting to eat and all.

And it's _really_ great to get to eat. Though apparently Japan and some of the others haven't been taking advantage of it because they're still skinny as heck. Russia said the difference is just because I'm the expert at gaining weight, but he's a jerk. A jerk with another bruise now.

China was being a jerk, too. Of course, if Germany hadn't interrupted me, I would have made it obvious that my economy's still way better than his. Why was Germany even on his side, with China killing Italy and all?

Well, I don't think I'm going to invite either of them to the _LOST_ party. Except that was sort of just for China in the first place...

"It really is," France says. "Now, I was wondering if you'd talk to him. Specifically if you'd promise you aren't going to kill him."

"Why would I kill him?" I take a second to think. "Did he clean his guest room with that nasty lemon-smelling stuff again? "

"Wha—no!" He lets out a long sigh. "He's scared about you punishing him for... hurting England, on the island. Given you were chasing after him, he probably has a reason to worry about that."

"Oh... That." I finish off my snack. "Naw, I'm not gonna kill him for that."

"All right, then—tell him." There's some clicking and a weird rustling sound as he hands the phone over.

"Hello?" starts Canada, voice weak even for him.

"Hey, bro," I say, leaning back in the hotel chair. "So yeah, I'm not going to kill you."

"Okay..." I wait a minute for him to say something else, but he doesn't.

"So... is that all you wanted to call about?"

There's nothing on the other end for a second, then more rustling.

"If you don't mind—" France again—"could you talk to him about England? He's convinced he killed our fairy boy for good, and because you've ki—certainly seen him since..."

I take another swig of coke. "Uh, yeah, okay..."

He hands the phone back over.

"Canada, you there yet?" I start.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay. Well... Yeah, he's alive. Or, was for the majority of the time the last time I saw him." I take a second to make sure that sentence made sense. "Which was after you left, so no worries."

He mulls it over for a minute. "So... Was he... okay?"

"Well, he was starving and all, but otherwise, yeah."

"Okay... But he really is dead again?"

"Apparently." I shift the phone to my other ear and cross my legs. "I kind of accidentally killed him and got back here, and he either hasn't been moving around much or just hasn't torn his clothes on anything."

All that comes from the other side for a minute is shaky breathing.

"You okay over there?" I start.

"I-I never got to apologize to him," he says, choking up.

"Hey! Don't talk like that!" I lean forward. "I'm not going to let him or anybody else die out there. Or—stay dead. Whatever. Trust me a little, okay? The hero's going to save the day again—promise."

He swallows, getting out a weak "okay."

Exhaling, I lean back again. "And you don't have to worry about apologizing, anyway, man."

"Wh-what?"

"I mean, it wasn't even really you. I don't know what it felt like because I haven't been controlled by aliens before—or..." I frown—"...I don't _remember _being controlled by aliens before—but this is seriously one of those times you're trying to apologize for things you really don't have to."

There's no response at first, but he slowly starts, "You think I was controlled by aliens."

"Well, yeah!" I chug the last of my drink. "I don't know who else you've talked to or what they said, but I've got your back, okay? I know there's no way _you_ would have done something like that."

He's silent for a second, and then I hear... crying?

"Uh... Canada?"

"What did you say to him?" France yells, trying to shush Canada as he does so.

"I was just telling him I knew the aliens made him do it, since there's no way he—" I cut myself off at the dial tone.

"Don't you hang up on me!" I say to the phone. But I guess France probably isn't hearing that right now. Maybe I should call him back and tell him off for it. I'm over here just trying to help my brother, and he's running around hanging up on me...

I poke through my contacts and get to France's number right as my ringtone starts up again, phone buzzing in my hand.

I answer, "Hey, Japan. What's up?"

"Ah, hello, America. Have you been well?"

"Uh, yeah."

He pauses for a second. "So—have you watched the news recently?"

I put my feet up on the coffee table. "No. My commie-busting language skills are a little rusty. Why, what happened?"

"I'm sure it must in English on the Internet somewhere, but to avoid making you hunt down information I already know..." He exhales. "It appears that some deaths have been reported among those near the explosions."

I slowly sit back up. "What?"

It sounds like his hair rubs against the phone—I think he's nodding. "All of the victims—I believe there have been six—are being further inspected, but they seem to have been overcome quickly once symptoms set in. There's still debate on whether the agent was a chemical or pathogen, but since the victims were in different nations, it nearly has to be related to the bombs."

I chew on my cheek a little bit. "So... I guess the aliens... Oh! They're just trying to throw us off their trail, distract us because we're so close to getting them."

Putting the phone on my shoulder, I cross my arms. "Come tomorrow, I bet we find out those people aren't really dead! Or maybe they'll be abducted to cover up the tracks." I shift my shoulders. "Although that could be dangerous for them, too... Tell you what! I'll talk to Tony and make sure he's looking for any suspicious abductions over the next few days. In the meantime, I'll get back to looking for the island."

"Um... Yes," he says. "I'm not sure that we should come to conclusions so quickly, but... In any case, please continue your searches, and I'll keep track of how this progresses."

"Sounds like a plan."

"All right. Until next time."

"Bye." I hang up.

* * *

The next day comes with all sorts of write-ups on the six deaths. And while I normally get all of my news from Colbert, I think the circumstances are extraordinary enough to check out a normal online paper.

The six "dead" are two old Italian ladies, a British guy, two little kids from China, and an Atlantan lady. All of them were near the explosions but not always the closest to them. Most of them had just come home on a flight, but the British guy was apparently just passing through.

They all definitely died—or so _The_ _Times_ says—from some infection or poison. They're still doing a bunch of tests to figure it out. It might take weeks, but apparently it's a pretty high priority.

And then there's a bunch of speculation on what the bombs were all about, but it's nothing new.

I close out the window and lean back in the office chair.

So, if the island's not anywhere near where the stars said they were, how do I go on looking for it? If it's underground, I'm definitely not going to catch it from a helicopter. I guess I could go hunting down all of the big nuke shelters. Even if it would take a lot of equipping, those would probably be the best places to start, unless they wanted to dig up a whole new thing. I guess that's not impossible, but still.

The island could always be on the aliens' home planet, too, but that'd be really hard to find and _really_ hard to get to. The portal or wormhole or whatever that was at the meeting building is obviously closed now. Maybe there's a way to go backwards from the bedrooms, though. If that could do it, I'd probably have the best shot in one of the bedrooms of the guys who haven't come back yet. Maybe if I just stand exactly in the right place...

I thunk my head on the desk. Why did I take this job? There's so much _thinking_!

But I have to lead the rescue effort, and this part of it has the most adventure, as far as I can tell. So despite its difficulties, I will press ahead in my heroic quest!

So... I take a minute to run down my last train of thought. The wormholes, right. So, did we all show up in our rooms in, like, the same pose? Don't know about them, but as for me... Well, pretty soon after I got there, I went around throwing things and chucking the tie into the fireplace, so I'm really not sure how I was standing at first. Uh... Nope, don't remember.

At any rate, this strategy is going to be a lot easier than the underground one, so I'll check it out first.

After poking through my contacts list a bit, I decide to start with Canada, since he's the most recent one back.

I just get the answering machine, so I try his cell. No luck there, either.

Okay... Who was before? Uh, me, I think. Whoops. And before that... Either China or Austria. Let's start with China.

Hanging up, I go ahead and dial him up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, China," I say, carefully leaning my chair onto two legs. "So, I came up with another genius plan for tracking down the island, and, long story short, I need to know exactly how you were standing when you showed up at your house."

"Why would you..." He sighs. "Well, I was just standing the way I was after the last strike of the wok, I guess, aru. I don't remember moving much when the island faded into my living room."

"Okay, thanks." I hang up and call Austria.

"Hello?"

"Hey, so I have a new plan for getting to the island, and I need to know how you were standing when you first got in your bedroom."

"Hmph." Rustling as he shifts the phone between ears. "Although I seriously doubt this is a contribution to an intelligent theory, I was lying face-down."

Okay, that doesn't match anything. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"Fine, fine. Well, thanks." I hang up, wander to the bed, and flop on top of it.

Okay, so if the wormholes are like that, they're different for everyone. So I'd have to figure out what everybody would do after killing someone somehow, and... And how would be get back afterwards?

You know what—maybe the aliens' plan isn't quite that complicated. Let's just start checking out underground shelters.

* * *

I've cleared one massive shelter from suspicion when my phone rings. I hurry to my car—it may be a decent temperature, but the wind is freezing—and answer.

"America!" It's definitely Germany. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for the island. Duh."

"Where?"

"Well, Russia at the moment, just because I was already here. The island is definitely not underground where I am right now."

He exhales for what has to be at least ten seconds. "As I recall, you're supposed to be looking for the island over the Pacific, in a helicopter, with me. Right now."

"What? Oh, that." I wave a hand dismissively. "I mean, we already know it's not where I said it was, and with how weird it all was, I really think it makes more sense to be underground than on a real island with some crazy holographic stuff going on. I mean, we would have just been able to find it on the Internet or whatever as soon as we got back here, right? It really wouldn't be worth the trouble to disguise the stars."

Somehow he exhales even longer this time. "Now, what if we consider the possibility you and England were wrong about the stars?"

"Come on, man. I know my stars. Do you have any idea how much time I spend—"

"Just shut up and get to the helipad!" he snaps, hanging up before I can respond.

What is it with people hanging up on me lately?

I put up the phone and start up the car. Back by Russia's place, I guess. I seriously think going over the ocean again is a waste of time, but I guess it's still possible the aliens would rather get a real island than go underground. It'd be easier to find from orbit, at least. I mean, this is all really weird, so maybe the aliens are really weird and would totally go and swipe a real island and do really weird things to it.

Whatever. All that matters is that I get to the island and get everybody home safe. And I know that's going to happen.

Because the hero always saves the day.


	4. Looking for More

Author's Note: Sorry about the update speeds recently. I've been having an awful lot of work to do, so hopefully it will subside, but I can't promise anything. At any rate, I'll keep updating these within a week of each other, no buts about it.

Now, review, please? Reviews make me happy, but a lot of readers skipped reviewing the last chapter, so... If they write long reviews for this one, I'll forgive them and thank them. And thank you. Because you'll review and make me feel happy and loved... right?

* * *

_Poland_

Gnawing on roasted root, I stare up into the leaves. Never did make those treehouses, did I? Of course, Lithuania's gone, so I can't make him do it, and I'm way too tired to do it now. I wonder if anybody else out here is feeling more up to it?

Probably not. There's, like, no food—except some roots and that one stupid mouse I can never catch—so it's kinda hard to feel up to anything. And then there was that one weird thing... What was it, like, three or four days ago? With the weird burning in my chest. I don't know what it was, but I wonder if it happened to anyone else.

Maybe it's whoever trying to tell us our immortality is gone. But that's silly, because there's no way they can take away mine. Well, I guess they kind of have been, but not all the way. I just can't see that happening.

I finish up my drab meal and haul myself to my feet. I can't really know what anybody else is doing unless I go ask them, right? Let's get to it!

I wonder if Estonia's gotten better yet. Because last time... Yeah. Uh, yeah. He wasn't better yet. Let's just say that and not think about it any more because it was really grody and freaky and I'm getting sick just thinking about it without thinking about it any more. And there's almost nothing in my stomach and not much more to eat, so I especially really don't want to barf. Not that barfing is fun when I don't have to worry about food. Because that's still grody, and why am I still thinking about all of this crud when it's just making me feel sick? The roots are nasty enough to keep down without any, like, emotional stuff making me want to...

Okay, you know what? Treehouses! So if I do recover enough to start them myself...

I look up at the branches again but almost trip over something. But it's not hard to figure out what all of the branches look like, anyway, so I keep thinking while looking for big roots that keep trying to trip me.

So I'll obviously have to build my treehouse first. It'll have to be small enough to fit in a tree, but big enough to fit parties. And I'll also have to find something pink to paint it with. Maybe that would solve the fireproofing problem, too? Or is England even still here?

I open up Estonia's briefcase and fish out the agenda. Yeah, he's still here. With the Italies and Spain and Liechtenstein and Estonia. And me, but I already knew that.

So I still have to fireproof it. Or just not invite England over for parties. That seems kind of mean, but he's kind of a loner, anyway... Or maybe I'll just not build a kitchen. That'll solve that. Especially since there isn't really much food to cook, anyway.

How am I going to get strong enough to do this if we don't find more food, though? I figure Lithuania and the others are going to come and find us, so they'll probably bring food, and that's how that'll happen. So wait, if that's what's going to happen, they'll probably get us out of here for the immortality thing.

But, I mean, if we ignore the lack of food and all of the killing-everybody stuff that's happened here, it's a really nice place. We could totally come back to visit. So, yeah, I still need to make the treehouses. Except everybody else will be around, too, so I can just design the whole complex and make them do it, which is totally fair since it's not like they won't be hanging out here, too. And since I'll be overseeing, that's all the work I need to do to pull my weight in it. That, and the genius design, which has pretty much been finished for a while if I just remember it.

Hey! I have paper, don't I? I could just go ahead and draw the thing now. And then I can send it over so Lithuania can bring all the nails and stuff when he comes!

Fwumping down against a tree, I go through the suitcase and get out supplies. It doesn't take long to hammer out the basic design, so I sign it and toss the paper into the grass. This is going to be awesome.

I make sure the briefcase is closed and then stand back up. So... what was I doing?

After a minute of watching a little blue bug thing crawl over my shoe, I shake my head. Checking out the others, right. And that weird burning chest thing.

Glancing at the sky—it's noonish—I set off again. Since I don't know where anybody else is, I'm just going back in Estonia's direction. And if he's still sitting there being dead and grody, I can just figure it out from a distance and turn around and go somewhere else. Not that I don't like him enough to wait, just... Yeah. I already discussed all of the throwing up stuff.

I keep at it for a while with a couple of breaks thrown in before I come up to where he is. It looks like he's still lying there, but all I can see from here is clothes, so I'm not sure how bad off he is. Probably still pretty bad.

Making sure nobody else is here, I get a little closer and squint at him. Yeah, I think that's his face back there. Really not looking good yet.

So he's probably not back. I go ahead and call his name, anyway, but he doesn't say anything. Figures. I'll just leave him alone a while longer, then...

"What?"

I stop turning around and look back over at him. He hasn't moved. Nobody else is here, though, and I guess it sounded enough like him even though it was kinda garbled. Oh, gosh, is he alive in that state right now? Ew... That has to be nasty for him... It's nasty enough for me, and I'm not even within arm's reach of the guy.

"Estonia?" I try again, taking another step closer.

"Hello?"

Pretty sure it's coming from him. Can he even walk like that? I don't want to go any closer to him, though... And I guess I wouldn't want him coming closer to me, or tagging along. So that's that.

"Yeah, hi. So, uh... Like, how you doing?"

He waits for a second. "Poland?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Oh... Sorry. Wasn't sure since I... can't see you."

"That's okay. I'm, like, not walking any closer, anyway, since you still kinda smell uber-grody even from over here."

"Okay." Another pause. "Maybe I'll... be better by morning."

"Dude, it's, like, already morning." I lean back on my heels. "Or a little after, I guess, but that's just if you, like, want to be really picky about it."

"What?"

I exhale. "I said, it's already—"

"No." He pauses again, and I think he shifts his legs a little. "I mean... what? If it's morning... why is it... so dark?"

Actually, this isn't the densest part of the trees, and it's not very cloudy, so... At risk of being a copycat: what?

"It's, like, not dark at all. Um, are your eyes closed?"

"No..."

I wait a minute—he's taking really long to talk for some reason. Maybe because when he inhales to say something he gets a big shot of grody air and has to stop choking before he can talk.

But a little while longer passes, and I guess he's done saying weird things for now.

"Well, get well soon," I say, taking a few steps to the side. "I'll, like, come back later when I can stand the sight of you."

"Okay..."

With that, I set off again.

* * *

I really don't feel like waking up the next morning. I walked around all day yesterday with, like, two servings of cruddy root, and I'm freaking tired.

I don't really have anything I have to do today, anyway, right? I can sleep in however late I want!

Rolling over, I fall asleep again and wake up a while later. I don't feel any better.

With a groan, I make myself sit up. There's really no reason to sleep if it doesn't help anything. Then again, being awake doesn't help much, either. Have the others come to pick me up yet? Ugh...

I watch some ants wander over the ground before wobbling up to my feet. Something doesn't feel right. On top of all of the starving stuff, I mean. I don't really feel _sick_, but... I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right.

I make sure no weird things bit me overnight and eventually get back to walking. Still nothing wrong with finding some of the others. And if whatever feels weird is one of those nation things, maybe someone else feels it, too. Or maybe not. I'm unique. It could just be me either way.

Still, it'd be nice to talk with Italy. Or maybe not, with the way he was last time I saw him. I mean, if we actually talk, that would be nice. I could use some cheerful chatter instead of just roaming around wishing there was more food. It gets pretty boring out here.

I keep roaming around wishing there was more food until I end up at a shore. The water's really pretty. Maybe I'd go swimming if I didn't think I might fall asleep in the middle of it.

Just for kicks, I take off my shoes as I walk along the sand. Unfortunately the sand is reallyreally hot, so I end up kinda wading at the edge of the water. It feels really nice. It's also relaxing enough I _know_ I'd fall asleep if I went in any further.

I keep walking, wondering if any little fish are going to come nibbling at my toes and how I'd end up nibbling at them, until something shows up in the distance. I can't quite tell what until it calls my way:

"Hey! Who's over there?"

Whoever it is, they don't sound too unfriendly?

"Like, me!" I call back, picking up the pace a little.

I start to make out a few figures, but I can't tell who's who until I'm almost there. Spain and Italy and Romano. And Italy's not up a tree screaming any more! That seems like a good thing.

Spain, standing up, takes a few steps ahead as I keep heading their way.

"Good to see somebody else okay," he says, hands in his pockets. "Care to join us?"

I come to a stop, tugging at my collar. After a second of trying to say something, I get out, "Dunno. You have any food?"

He laughs, unfortunately. "Afraid not."

I try to sidestep him or run off somewhere, but, I mean, it's just Spain, right? He at least seems nice, and I have to get past him to talk to Italy... Oh, gosh, here goes!

"Well... fine. I'll, like, grace you with my presence, anyway, because I'm just that good a person."

"Well, thank you!" he says with a grin, waiting until I get back to walking before he turns and leads me towards the Italies.

"Hey, Italy!" I start before we get there. "How's it going?"

He's crouched over, hands hidden between his thighs and stomach, but he turns his head towards me.

"Hungry," he mumbles before looking back out at the waves.

"Me, too!" I say, but he doesn't respond. "Uh... Like, Italy?"

He looks over at me again but doesn't say anything. He looks ready to answer whatever else I'm planning to say—which I don't know, by the way—but he's just looking blankly and frowning. It's freaking me out a little.

"He's been having a hard time." Spain's murmur makes me jump, and I end up stumbling in the other direction a little farther into the water.

"Sorry," he says, reaching out for my arm so I don't fall. I just nod rapidly, hoping my face doesn't look as hot as it feels. Why can't Italy be by himself right now? This could be so much easier!

"So, like, you feeling okay?" I start after recovering from the almost-fall.

Italy makes a noncommittal sound, shifting his shoulders, and looks back out at the ocean. I go ahead and look, too, in case he found a ship with the other nations or something. There's nothing, though.

"What do you care, anyway, pony-bastard?" his brother grumbles without opening his eyes.

I squeak, getting behind the nearest tree. Okay, he wasn't asleep. Oh, gosh, why are there so many other nations here? What am I doing here?

"Poland?" Spain ducks under a branch to find me, and I freeze up.

"Don't worry about him," he says. "He always acts like that, you know? He _ought_—" he turns to look at Romano—"to know you and Italy are friends, but at any rate he's not going to hurt you."

"Uh, like, right..." I scooch away a little more.

Maybe I should just leave. Italy's not screaming, but he's still in a weird mood, and I really don't want to try talking with the others...

"So, like, yeah," I start, leaning back on my feet without looking at Spain. "Uh, like, good to see other nations, and I'm going back to see Estonia now, bye."

"So soon?" Spain starts, but I'm already hurrying back towards the shore.

With nothing else to say to any of them, I just walk away fast until my legs refuse to take me any farther.


	5. Try to Understand

Author's Note: I may use a lot of different and not particularly fitting songs for chapter titles (although this one comes from "Magic Man," funnily enough), but I'd like to say that the official song in general of this story is "Jailbreak" by Thin Lizzy (they even yell, "Break out!" at one point!).

I'd also like to say thanks for all the reviews!

I'd also like to say thanks for reviewing this chapter, but I'm not sure that you have yet. Let me thank you, please?

* * *

_Norway_

The harsh chirping of my phone cuts through the news report. I check the screen to find Germany's name, mute the television, and pick up.

"Hello?"

"Good morning," he responds. "Is it a good time to talk?"

With everything going on, that's certainly a valid concern.

"Yes. I don't have any meetings until this afternoon."

"All right." He falls silent just long enough for it to be noticeable before he goes on. "So, I've been keeping you out of the loop of something important. I think things have gotten serious enough we're going to need all of the nations in on this, though. All I ask is that you try to consider things rationally."

I watch as a few death toll numbers come up on the television screen. The highest counts are in Italy, followed by Estonia, the U.K., Spain, and Poland. Canada's after that, but it's a pretty significant drop-off.

"Are you talking about the nations trapped on the island?"

He inhales sharply. "Denmark told you?"

"Denmark?" I frown. "No, of course not. I have caller I.D."

"Then who...?"

"Well—" I scratch my ear—"some of England's friends got worried about his prolonged absence and looked into it themselves. They couldn't help, though, so they let me know about it. We can talk about some of the research I've eked out since then, but if you're looking for a purely 'rational' approach, you're not going to like it."

He says nothing for a moment. I focus back on the news in the meantime, but it's just someone in a white coat being interviewed. The only text onscreen informs me she's a pathologist.

"By his 'friends,' " Germany finally says, "do you mean..."

"The not-so-rational ones, yes. I trust their information was correct." I drum my free fingers on the armrest. "You seem to agree."

"Ah..." He clears his throat. "At any rate, we're having a meeting tomorrow morning discussing both the island and the outbreak. If you could make it there physically or digitally, we could use another head. There's a chance this could affect your country, too."

"I could probably make it over there." The news switches to something other than the bombs and breakouts, surprisingly enough. "Are you all meeting in the original building?"

"Ah, no. It's nearby, though, still in Chelyabinsk. I'll get you the address."

While he shuffles through papers, the news goes back to the bomb investigations.

It'll be interesting to see what theories the other nations have about this.

* * *

I load my sparse luggage into the trunk of Germany's car. It could easily fit in the backseat, but he's adamant about only putting people in seats and goods in the trunk. I guess I should have expected as much.

Slamming the back shut, I get into the passenger seat, and Germany starts the car.

"Flight go well?" he asks, gripping the steering wheel.

"Yes." I glance at my watch. "Are we going to make it to the meeting early enough for you?"

He frowns. "We should make it with ten minutes to spare."

"All right."

The rest of the ride is silent, apart from a turned-down radio. The roads and people on sidewalks seem calm enough, even if two or three have taken to wearing face masks.

We pull into a parking space at 9:49. Germany still gives the car clock a look of disdain before turning the key and stepping out. I get my briefcase before following him inside.

The meeting room is mostly empty. A few spots are occupied by glowing computer screens, though no faces are behind them yet.

A flash of blonde darts across one screen. "No!" The offscreen shout is loud enough to make the speakers crackle. "I want her borders closed _now_!"

Another pixelated blur of yellow. "Yes, I realize that. Just don't let anyone in. I don't care whether they're clean or not. I am _not_ taking chances."

Switzerland paces past the screen again. "Just do it! We can talk more about it later. I have a meeting. Bye." Something clicks offscreen before he comes up to his chair and sits. Briefly glancing at those of us staring at him—which is just about everyone here—he humphs and leans back.

The room's starting to fill up now. Turkey takes a seat one space away from me. France's face comes up on one of the screens. America barges in two minutes early for once, and the places are all filled by meeting time.

Germany looks at the one blank screen with a frown. "We'll go ahead and start now," he says loudly, standing as some of the chatter and punch-throwing settling down. "I haven't been able to get hold of Bartholomew since yesterday, so there's probably not much of a point in waiting for him now. Let's begin with Japan."

With a nod, he sits down, and Japan gets to his feet.

"Thank you, Germany," he starts, stepping to the side of a poster by his spot. "While I've tried to keep most of you up to date on the outbreaks, here is a more complete view on what has happened so far."

He motions to the list and bar graph at his side. "All of the recorded deaths have occurred in nations that were both bombed and involved on the island. All twenty of us—exempting Liechtenstein, who has not been bombed—have been affected, and Italy has over twice the fatalities of any other nation. The other nations still on the island have an average of eight hundred more fatalities than any of us. As far as those who have escaped go, the numbers of dead seem to roughly correspond with the amount of time each of us has spent on the island."

He moves his hand down to a small exponential graph. "Overall, here are the confirmed deaths day-by-day since the seventeenth. 18, 301, 5780. Since midnight today, about 3250 deaths are suspected, making a total of about 9350."

America knocks on the table to get attention. "So, how are linking the deaths to the bombs? Since a lot of those other guys—" he waves over by me, Turkey, and Australia—"got bombed and all."

Japan nods. "Certainly it has something to do with the bombs, as Liechtenstein has not been affected. These deaths have been attributed as related based on the symptomatology. As you know, only six on the first day had been near the bombs, but more than that succumbed to a similar disease to make our first total of eighteen. We haven't yet determined how the pathogen got from the airports to the other parts of the country, but it doesn't seem like an unlikely jump."

"But it's also necessarily related to the immortality loss, right?" I put in. "Since, of everyone bombed, only those that have lost some immortality to the island have been affected."

"Pardon?" responds Austria. "I can assure you we've regained our immortality upon returning home. I had been in a corpse-like state for some time on the island but healed immediately upon arriving in my room."

I look at him carefully, confirming my impression of those that had come back. "I'm not arguing that you haven't regained any. It's obvious none of you have completely recovered, though."

Germany looks at me sideways. "I don't see how it's 'obvious' at all."

"You really can't tell?" I blink, but his scowl doesn't soften.

The room is silent for a moment before a slightly fuzzy voice starts, "May I add something?"

Germany looks over at France's screen. "Yes, you may."

France exhales. "I'm not going to say it implies one thing or another, but Canada's been back for days, and his jaw still hasn't completely healed."

"How many days?" Germany responds.

France frowns, putting a hand to his forehead. "He's not sure. He still needs a lot of time to recover emotionally before he can even try to give you his account of things, all right?"

With an exhale, Germany nods. "Japan—would you like to continue your presentation, then?"

"Ah." Japan, who had sat down at some point, shifts in his seat. "No, that's all I have unless there are any more questions."

After allowing a moment for last comments, Germany calls on Finland.

"Thank you." He stands up and leans with his hands on the table. "On the research front, we're still trying to figure out exactly what's being transmitted. Needless to say, the cure's not exactly imminent. There are a lot of researchers working on it, though, and plenty of infected samples to go around, so I'm sure we'll figure it out soon."

No one else feels the need to comment on that.

I wonder if they'll find anything. If this is all the workings of a curse, I wouldn't expect them to. The bombs make me think it does have a physical manifestation. Still, normal testing wouldn't be able to identify it—it probably wouldn't even detect it. Once the usual suspects are knocked out, though, they could start to figure it out. I doubt they would find a non-magical cure, though.

"Next," Germany says, looking over at the blank screen, "was supposed to be Bartholomew presenting information on security footage and tracing the bombs, but he doesn't seem to be here." He exhales slowly. "We may have to assign someone else to that task. I won't jump to conclusions yet, though."

He re-straightens his papers. "We haven't found any signs of the island yet, but we've knocked out a good chunk of the Pacific now. Searches will continue. As far as those on the island—Lithuania?"

Lithuania stands. "Yesterday morning, another 'note' arrived." With a stiff smile, he sighs. "It wasn't anything useful, just Poland telling me how I needed to build treehouses there. I think it's fair to assume he's the one with Estonia's briefcase at the moment."

His smile fades. "There haven't been any more scraps from Estonia, England, Liechtenstein, or Romano. Spain has left a scrap, and a small, white chip of something appeared at Italy's place. It may be a small piece of bone, but there's no way to tell where it came from."

The room lapses into silence.

"Is that all?" Germany asks stiffly.

"Um, yes." Lithuania dips his head and sits back down.

Germany scoots his chair back a little. "Well, the floor is open if there's anything else relevant to be said."

"Relevant _and_ 'rational'?" I respond.

He shoots me a glare. "Yes."

I close my eyes and lean back in my chair with a shrug. I feel a few nations giving me looks, but no one says anything.

"All right." A scudding noise as Germany scoots his chair all the way back. "This meeting is adjourned."

Other chairs start to screech and papers shuffle, so I open my eyes and get up.

"Now that that's over," I start, setting my briefcase on the table, "if anyone's interested, I can go through some alternate methods to get to the island I've been looking at."

Germany breaks off his chat with Finland and walks over immediately. Giving the others wandering over a look that freezes them in place, he turns back to me and starts, "I explicitly told you—"

"This is becoming a very serious situation, Germany. I don't think your personal hangup on magic should interfere with progress. I at least refrained from interrupting your meeting with this; now don't expect me to keep from contributing any longer."

"It is not a personal hangup," he growls. "It is trying to make progress without hoping waving a wand will somehow fix everything."

"It doesn't work like that." I sigh, watching a few more nations leave. "Just—think about it. How 'scientific' is our immortality? How 'scientific' would its counter logically be?"

He doesn't answer for a minute, so I start pulling some texts out of my briefcase. "Just go ahead back to Russia's house," I say. "I'll get out my message without brainwashing anyone in the meantime." Turning to face him, I end, "See you."

He exhales, glancing at those who have tentatively stayed. "Fine. See you." He pushes in a stray chair and looks me in the eye again. "I will expect you to contribute in real ways, too."

"I will," I say as he turns to leave. Aside from a nod I might be imagining, he doesn't respond any more before he's out the door.

"All right, then," I say, straightening up as the last of us remaining move in. "Let's begin."

Taking seats, the crowd stays mostly quiet—excluding a few unintelligible comments and snorts near where America sits—as I go over what I've found. All I have are a few possibilities pertaining to the immortality loss, but apparently we're having some particular trouble locating the island as well. There are whole books of cloaking spells, but from America's description of where the island was supposed to be, I can knock out quite a few of those.

I'll still have to do more research—meaning I'll have to get back home soon after all—but I think I could break this. Or, maybe that's not the right way to put it...

I check the room again to find Romania isn't here. I didn't think I saw him earlier, but I know he'd be interested. Even if I couldn't get him to do any research with me, once it comes to actually playing with spells, I'll call him up. To be honest, my casting success rate is about the same as England's, so I'll definitely need to get some help once I've come that far. Romania was probably kept out of the loop, too, though, so I'll make sure we get him filled in.

I'm convinced this will make the difference. My apologies to Germany, but he has no claim to power over us right now. He's an ace at keeping things organized, but he doesn't know everything.

So I'll let him do his job, and I'll do mine.


	6. Completely Break You

Author's Note: So the one song on my iPod by an Italian band came up on shuffle while writing this. These things keep happening to me...

Not that I mind. Just like I don't mind reviews. Or actually I really do mind reviews, but in a good way. Or actually I need to stop trying to twist words and just ask for reviews. Yeah. That last one.

* * *

_Italy_

Rocking, I watch the rain clouds come closer. It's cooling down a little, so that's nice. And I haven't had anything to drink since the day before yesterday, so that'll be nice, too.

I think that, but it doesn't make me feel any better. How could I? We're all still here, and we're all still going to die, and my hands hurt bad all over again since I fell on them yesterday, and I still can't relax enough to sleep or just nap. The other day Spain even found a mouse to eat and joked about it ambushing him because it jumped on his head, but it didn't make me feel better.

Maybe a little bit. Not enough for me to feel like me, though. Because even if he's strong enough to keep looking for food and funny and nice to me, he's still trapped here and still going to die. And there's nothing I can do to help. Even if me being around is what makes us die, I can't run away because I still can't walk right, and I couldn't get far enough for them not to find me.

And there's definitely nothing else I can do. I can't help get food when my feet don't want to go where they're supposed to. I definitely can't get any of us out of here. All that can get any of us out of here is killing our nations.

I almost want to. Just so I don't have to watch everyone die for the last time. But I don't have a weapon or even useable hands. And who's left? Romano, Spain, Japan, Poland... How could I kill them, especially? No, I'll just die here with everybody else... A-at least we can go down being friends...

I curl up a little more and cry into my knees, except there still aren't any tears. Some splint-branch-things poke into my chest a little, but I don't smush my hands any more. They haven't been quite as bad since Spain and Romano put them back together yesterday, so that's good...

Rain starts splashing into the ocean before the clouds get here. It makes a nice, relaxing sound. If I didn't know about all the nations here out to kill the three of us, I could probably doze off.

Instead I look over my shoulder again to make sure nobody's close. Just trees. I check the shore, from side to side. Just sand, and that S.O.S. we found. Nobody else is here just yet. We're okay for now. We're all going to be okay for a little while...

The extra ripples on the water come closer, and then raindrops start to turn little spots of sand dark.

"Finally!" Pulling himself to his feet, Spain takes a few staggering steps towards the shore. "I could use a fresh drink, huh?"

He glances back at Romano and me. Romano's just watching the clouds, and I know I'm not getting up.

Sighing, Spain makes it over here, plopping himself in the little space between me and my brother. He leans back a ways to smile at both of us.

"Don't need to get ahead of myself, though. We can share this victory, right?" He nudges our shoulders.

I nod a little, while Romano shrugs him off. Laughing softly, he sits back up.

"You guys are making it really hard to stay cheerful, you know that?"

I crane my neck towards him just as the rain starts to fall on my shoes. "Sorry." Rain starts to soak into my shins and knees. "I'm trying, though."

I watch the sand get darker and move my toes around. I can tell Romano's watching me as well as Spain.

"Are your hands feeling any better?" my brother starts, voice rough.

"A little." I consider sitting up and looking over them, but then it'd just remind me how bad they look.

"That's good." He stretches out his palms to let rainwater start pooling in them.

"Definitely!" Spain says as I nod.

We go silent again after that. The rain's trickling all over us now, so we can definitely stay quiet to our first drinks in a while. I can't cup my hands, so I just crane my neck and catch water droplets in my mouth. It's not that effective and it makes me kind of dizzy, but it's really, really nice to have my tongue not be so dry, even if it's just a little at a time.

"Kind of like trying to catch snowflakes," Spain comments, smiling at me before popping his head over to snatch a particular raindrop.

I smile a little. "Kinda, yeah." I finish saying that in time to get another one.

Romano slurps the puddle in his hands, and Spain looks over at him.

"Too thirsty to do this the fun way, huh?" Spain comments.

Romano rolls his eyes. He goes ahead and tilts his head up, but he keeps his hands out. The rain falls on his face for a while before he gives his head a shake and turns back to his hands.

"It really isn't that fun," he comments, yawning.

Spain shrugs. "Well, more of it's falling now, so it's not a challenge anymore. You just missed out this time, that's all." He grins at Romano, who just leans his head back against a trunk and closes his eyes.

I do another little sweep to make sure nobody's coming before opening my mouth to the rain again. So nice...

"Hey, Italy," Spain starts, leaning forward a little. "Let me get some of the bottles, and I'll set them up in the sand."

"Oh!" Forgot about those. "Okay."

Carefully watching myself so I don't end up falling over, I sit up slowly and move my hands out so they're not in the way. With all of the vines and sticks tied around them, it's kind of hard to see them right, so aside from a couple of blood stains it doesn't look like it hurts. I actually don't think some of my right hand is hurting at all.

Holding my arms to the sides, I let my feet slide away enough that Spain can get to Germany's special pockets, and he fishes out two of the bottles with wavering hands. With a grunt, he uses his elbows to push himself to his feet. He wobbles for a second before his knees buckle and he hits the sand.

I scoot closer to him. "Spain! Are you okay?"

He clears his throat, pushing his face out of the sand and shaking the clumps off him. "Uh, yeah..." He pushes enough to sit up and looks down at his legs. Setting the bottles down, he pushes himself back to his feet but doesn't get any farther than squatting before he falls back on his butt.

"S-Spain?" I start, heart starting to pound harder. Romano's woken himself up enough to watch, too.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Spain says quickly, putting his hands behind him for balance. He stares at his legs for a second, and one of them wobbles a little bit. "Just... really tired... I guess."

He looks over his shoulder at my brother. "Romano, would you mind setting up the bottles? I... think I need to just relax for a little while." He stares at his legs again and lowers his eyebrows.

Romano stumbles over, picking up the bottles, but he stops to look at Spain.

"So what exactly are you doing?" my brother mutters, embedding a bottle into the sand right in front of us.

"Not completely sure," Spain starts, scooting himself back where the trees will shield him from the rain. "My legs just aren't really... in working order somehow, so I'm just going to get a little sleep. Maybe I've just been pushing myself a little too hard looking for food."

Romano lets out a low sigh. "I can do the looking tomorrow." He sets up another bottle and comes to me for another. "Lazyass."

Spain chuckles weakly. "Sorry."

Shivering, I look around for other nations again and then back at Spain. He can't... walk? Run? Stand? What are we going to do when somebody comes for us? I-I mean, I knew we'd die eventually, but i-it's too soon! We can't already... We can't already be defenseless, and I can't run, and Spain can't run, either, so maybe Romano could come out alive, but they'll get him later because I was here and we're all going to die, we're all already going to die... I don't want to see Spain die for good, and I don't want to die for good, and I really don't want to die for good knowing my brother's about to die for good because I had to come with him and nobody's going to defend us now and and and...

"Italy. Italy?"

I don't care if Spain wants me to look at him. I'm not looking at anybody. I don't want to see any of them die, and I don't want to see me die, and Spain might be dying already—

"Veneziano!"

Romano jerks me by the shoulder, and I have to open my eyes to keep from falling over someway.

"R-relax a little." He sighs, moving his hands down to one of my wrists. "You're gripping so hard one of the bones shifted back."

I panic and look down, but he bops my head the other way and starts messing with the splints. Luckily whatever I hurt was in the part that doesn't hurt, so he doesn't have to worry about me screaming and squirming like the other times he's helped.

"There," he says so quietly I barely hear it over the rain. Tying up one last vine, he takes another bottle and shuffles away with it.

"Italy."

I feel like if I look over at him, it'll make him worse, so I just close my eyes and say, "Uh-huh?"

"Don't worry so much." Spain sighs. "You're not cursed or anything, all right? I'll be fine. I admit this is kind of a weird sudden weakness, but—it's okay. I'll just get some rest and see what that does for it."

"What if it doesn't do anything?" I mumble, shivering more.

He lets out a long exhale, clearing his throat at the end. "Even then, it's not the end of the world. The others could finally get here before anyone here even finds us. Until then, I'm still alive and ki—ha. Alive, at least."

I don't say anything else. I don't feel like it. I just watch Romano finish with the bottles and settle by a trunk near Spain. Both of them trail off to sleep.

I look around for enemies again.

* * *

When the rain passes, I can hear Spain breathing funny. I scoot a little to go wake him up but stop. Do I really want to? What if he doesn't wake up? I don't want to find that out yet. I know he's still breathing, so maybe I should just be happy with that and pretend he's not going to die...

Checking again for other people, I swallow and, trying not to quiver, scoot over and nudge Spain with an elbow. Please wake up. It's too soon for you to die. Any time's too soon, but now's especially too soon, and please don't be dying, please don't, please don't...

With a snort, he shifts his hips a little and starts to blink his eyes open. If I'd drunk enough rain, I would cry.

"What's going on?" he starts voice fuzzy as he squints and unsquints his eyes.

"N-nothing..." I pull back. "You just started breathing kinda hard, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

With a grunt, he sits up a little. "Breathing hard?" He pauses for a second, frowning. "Maybe a little, but I still feel all right."

"Okay, good." I swallow and try to convince myself I was just imagining it. But he's still breathing a little too fast and a little too raspy, so I go wake up Romano. He grumbles and tries to push me away so I stop prodding him, but I keep at it.

Swearing, he finally opens his eyes and then narrows them at me. "What the fuck is it?" He stands up, looking left and right for any enemies, scowls at me again, and then pivots to look over at Spain.

Wishing I could tug on his shirtsleeve, I scoot back towards Spain a little. "Will you listen to his breathing? He doesn't think there's anything wrong with it, but..."

Exhaling, Romano walks over to Spain, staring into the brush absolutely still as he listens. Eventually he shakes his head, getting to his feet.

"Don't be so paranoid, Veneziano," he mutters, walking back over to his tree trunk. "He's fine."

"O-okay..." I watch Spain for a minute, biting my lip. "Are you sure?" I start, looking back towards my brother.

"Yes! Let me sleep already, dammit." He scrunches up against the trunk and closes his eyes.

"Sorry."

I watch him for a while, but he really is just trying to get to sleep. With a sigh, I look back over at Spain. He's lying back down.

"Can you move your legs any yet?" I start. Because even though everything goes wrong here, maybe just a little thing could get better.

Spain exhales, corners of his lips twitching up a little. "No, not at all. I, uh, don't seem to have much control over my arms, either, at this point, but hey! Doesn't mean that can't get better, too."

I go cold and tremble a little bit more. "You... Y-you c-can't m-m-move..."

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupts, looking over at the shore. "Like I said, if one pair of limbs can get better, so can the other." He looks back at me. "I mean, I can't be poisoned from anything if you guys are still fine. And, yeah, this is really weird, but there's no reason it would kill me." His voice suddenly shifts at the end, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a second.

I scoot over to him. His name comes out of my mouth so squeaky I can't even understand it.

" 'Sokay," he gets out, voice still strained.

A shadow falls over us, and I panic before realizing it's Romano.

"What's going on?" he starts gruffly.

"I don't know," I whimper, looking back at Spain. His shoulders are back a little more, but he's still lying there, wheezing in long breaths, his chest not moving much.

"S-Spain!" Romano starts, leaning over him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Spain moves his jaw a little, but no sound comes out except that same little wheeze.

"Hey! Tomato-bastard!" Romano grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him to a sitting position. "Stop it!"

Spain, eyes still loosely closed, doesn't respond.

"Listen to me, dammit!" Romano shakes him hard, Spain's head and arms flopping behind the rest of him. "Get up and act normal again! This isn't funny!"

The wheezing starts to fade as Spain's breaths get longer and thinner. And I promise I'm not just imagining it because Romano's watching Spain's lips turn blue, too.

Spain's going to die. Spain's really going to die. Nobody even had to come kill him—

"It's too late for you to die again, damn you!"

—and what's happening doesn't even make sense so it's just because everybody here is going to die—

"_Spain_!"

—and all I can do is sit here and watch Spain turn blue and die and Romano crying because there's too much immortality gone for him to come back again, and Romano's going to die, too, and I'm going to die, too, and I can't even hear Spain breathing now. But we're both crying, and Romano's screaming at him, so maybe he's still breathing a little, but it doesn't matter because he's blue and dying and dead.

Romano stops shaking him long enough to check for a pulse. He just trembles with his fingers at Spain's neck for a second before screaming a curse, throwing Spain to the ground, and ramming his palms into Spain's chest over and over. But the next time he looks for a pulse, he just chokes a little from crying and goes back to doing compressions. It hasn't worked by the second time he takes a pulse, either.

Romano keeps pounding his hands over Spain's heart but slower and slower with his wasted arms shaking more and more. I'd go over to help, but my hands won't do any good, and nothing will do any good anyway because he's dead. He's dead. Spain's dead.

Romano and I probably aren't going to stop crying until we're dead, too.


	7. Believe the Information

Author's Note: Now that I've assigned on overall song for this fiction, I feel like I need to do one for _The Rules_—so I think I'll go with "Band on the Run." Ignore the fact that the captives aren't a band.

Also, my apologies to readers from countries with high death tolls. I promise I'm not angry with you. I'll be mildly upset if you don't review, of course, but I would never go out of my way to kill you for that... Of course not...

* * *

_China_

I've just clicked Russia's stovetop on when someone raps on the side of the doorway. With a sigh, I click the dial back off and walk within sight of the hallway. Japan is poised just outside the door.

"Come on in, aru," I say with a nod. "Did you want to help with supper?"

He pauses but nods, stepping into the kitchen. "It would be good to get my mind off things."

I turn the stove on again. "Things?"

"Yes." He exhales, walking over to wash his hands. "Keeping track of the numbers can become very disheartening."

"Ah."

He doesn't feel the need to elaborate, so I ask him to look for the flour as I walk to the refrigerator. I've only attempted making a meal once since I came to stay here, so I'm really not familiar with the layout. Who knows what Russia's doing right now, because he's not coming to help me figure this place out this time.

It's a hassle, but I really don't mind him not hanging around. He's a stalker enough when I'm not even at one of his own houses. But it's not like I have much of a choice as to staying here, and I bet he'd be happy to track me down to whatever hotel nearby I could try. Oh, why did the fateful meeting have to be on his land?

I pick out some ingredients for the sauce and look around the refrigerator door to see Japan finally pulling out the flour. Balancing tubs and boxes in my arms, I shut the door with my knee and set the things on the counter between him and the stove.

"Thanks, aru." I go back to pluck a few eggs and return. "Do you want to go ahead and do the noodles by yourself?"

He looks at the ingredients for a moment. "Why not?"

"All right. I think the bowls were over here..." Ducking under a counter, I open a low cupboard and take out a few bowls.

Japan is still looking at the flour blankly, tapping two fingers on the counter silently.

I set one of the bowls in front of him. "Would it help to talk about some of those 'things'?"

He sighs, cracking open an egg. "Perhaps." Putting his hands over a spare bowl, he starts to separate the yolk. "Things just continue to get worse on all accounts." He looks down. "Have you seen the death toll in Spain today?"

"No." I step to the sink with my bowl. "What is it, aru?"

"So far," he says, voice so quiet it's hard to make out the words, "the best estimate is about one million."

"One—!" My hand jerks the faucet the wrong way, and water hisses in a torrent that sprays my face before I shut it back off. "One mill..." Wiping off my face, I shake my head. "Is that even—possible?"

"It certainly wouldn't seem so." He puts in another yolk. "Even at the fast rate the disease has been spreading, this is by all means an unfeasible jump."

Not sure my tongue would work even if I had any idea what to make it say, I just shake my head and work on the sauce. I can see why Japan would rather cook than think about that. If nothing else, the steady rhythm of clacks as he beats the eggs is somewhat soothing.

"Do you think," he finally starts, pouring some water in, "Spain was killed on the island?"

"Probably, aru. The numbers sort of correspond to what's happened on the island, right?"

He walks back to his workstation, not looking at me. "Yes. That's what I thought as well." He locates the salt. "I called some of the other island-bound nations to see if any of them had made it home, but no one answered. England's assistant didn't pick up his phone, either."

He absently stirs his bowl.

"Bartholomew, right?" I try to catch his eye, but he just nods without looking up. "So, do we have any other way to check on him, aru? He's been missing for a little too long."

"We've tried his Facelook, but he hasn't responded there, either. Since the U.K. has been one of the hardest-hit countries so far, it's difficult to find out for sure if he was among the dead. For now, Germany has decided to establish Scotland as our main contact over there."

He stares at the bowl for a moment before taking the lid off the flour container and pouring some in carefully.

"Ah." I reach to get the salt from his part of the counter. "Are you done with this?"

I don't hear a response as he mechanically stirs his mixture.

"Japan, aru?"

His hand slows until he pulls it away, both his palms hitting the counter with his fingers clenched.

"If I had just thought it over, I could have made it off the island that first night," he says quietly, arms trembling. "Germany has fifty dead. I have 5,347 now."

His head is bowed enough his hair blocks his eyes. "How many of my people are dying because I never dared to consider I had to kill myself? How many—"

"Hey." I rest a hand on his shoulder. "Don't act like that was cowardice on your part, aru. I don't think any of us could say we tried half as hard as you to get off that island, and I bet you took your life without batting an eyelash once you figured it out."

The shaking in his arms quiets down, but his shoulder muscles are still far from relaxed.

"I..." He sighs. "I just wish I wasn't so foolish as to assume it couldn't be the case." His knuckles whiten. "Enough of my people have died from my thoughtless decisions already."

I squeeze his shoulder softly. "You're not the only one of us who feels that way, trust me, aru." A few past images threaten to flicker across my vision, but I don't let them.

He just takes a few deep breaths, and I let my hand fall.

"There's no going back now, aru. All we can do is push forward and work as hard as we can to correct it."

With one more long exhale, he straightens up and starts kneading the dough. I smile a little and get back to the sauce.

"So! What else have you been doing lately, aru?"

He thinks for a minute. "I finished a replay of one video game and cleaned the room I've been staying in here." Pulling his hands from the mixture, he walks to the sink to rinse them. "This place doesn't seem to be the most well-kept, so I may tidy up some of the others as well."

I nod, setting the salt back by him just in case. "Sounds fun, aru."

He nods, clearing off a space and looking for a rolling pin. With my help, it doesn't take quite so long to locate, but I think it might have an old blood splatter on it.

Again, why must I be in the house of the psychopath stalker...?

Thankfully, Japan finds a newer rolling pin that may still have been a murder weapon but at least isn't as obvious about it.

Okay, so I've used cooking utensils as murder weapons, too, but... It's different. At any rate, I can be assured I'm not having fun when I do so.

We get back to work in a silence that isn't quite as heavy as the last one. Japan has the noodles out to dry less than a minute before I've put all the ingredients in the sauce. Now we just have to wait a while. I wasn't planning on having help when I started. Well, I certainly don't mind.

Idly stirring the sauce, I lean back against the counter and look over at Japan. He's still below his normal leanness, but the bones beneath his skin have been getting less distinct. And if the amount of noodles he churned out for the two of us is any indication, he's definitely back to a healthy appetite.

About the same is true for me. I got back about three days after him, so I'm a little bit behind, but not much. I still don't understand how America got back to a normal weight so quickly. Sure, he eats a lot, but I don't exactly eat like a bird, and I could barely stand to eat as much as an egg roll my first day back. I'm about back to normal now, though the same can't quite be said about my weight or energy level.

I am recovering, though, and so is Japan. It's good to see the scars of the island fading, even if the memories won't stop pricking us so sharply for a while yet.

We watch the noodles like our gaze will make them dry faster. A few minutes in, a figure looms in the doorway. Even seeing it from the corner of my eye, its height doesn't allow many options.

"Oh—you're already making something?" Hands on the doorframe, Russia leans in a little bit, blinking.

"Yeah, aru." I look back at the bowl of sauce, still stirring. "I bought most of the ingredients, so I promise we're not eating you out of house and home right now."

"Oh, no, that's fine." He shifts a little. "I was just thinking, since so many of us are under my roof, I could host everybody together at a big dinner at least once."

I try not to shudder. He'd probably poison a couple of us, just for kicks. Or break out the rolling pin. "Well, we're already cooking this for us."

"O-okay." He smiles weakly. "Maybe tomorrow night, then?"

"We'll see," I say shortly, looking back at the noodles.

With a little nod, Russia waves and disappears into the hallway. Japan doesn't stop glowering at him until he's out of sight. With a sigh, my little brother then turns to look at the noodles again.

His breath catches just a second before his knees buckle. With a yelp, I drop the spoon and catch his shoulders before he can hit the ground. Taking in deep gasps, he clutches at his shirt, near the middle but a bit to his left.

"J-Japan! What—"

Squeezing his eyes, he shakes his head, cutting me off with a wave of the hand. I just frown, trying to help him back to his feet as he lowers his hand but still struggles for breath. Eventually his gasping slows down enough that he nudges me away and leans heavily on the counter.

"What's wrong, aru?" I start, probably before he's caught his breath enough to respond.

He rubs his chest one last time, shaking his head. "Sorry for worrying you." He clears his throat, standing up more. "It's just palpitations. They've been troubling me oh-so often since I came back."

He traces a circle on the counter with his finger. "They don't correspond to any national events, as far as I've found. It's just the aftermath of my last injury on the island."

Exhaling, I lean back against the counter. "Got yourself through the heart, huh?"

He nods, prodding at a noodle to make sure it's still not ready.

He's still having problems with that, though? I try to remember the last time I was stabbed through the heart, but nothing jumps to mind. It has to be weird in taking so long to properly heal, though.

There was that comment from Norway about our immortality not being completely restored... And he's not one of the guys that will go out of his way to say something. It makes some sort of sense, but... I really don't like thinking that I'm still vulnerable like that. That any of us are.

Still, it's only enough to make most of the healing take longer, right? Austria came back from a pretty bad state just fine. Then again, how did the rotting go away so fast if that's how the reduced immortality works?

Norway could have been mistaken. We could be totally back to normal right now.

But... There's still Japan's heart. And we don't really have a precedent for recovering from a rotting body because we never get that far, so even that technically could have been slowed down. And he could always have some other injury that hasn't healed quite so well.

I rub a finger on the side of my neck. There's still a little bit of raised flesh, but that's just the scar. The wound hasn't bled since I came back from it on the island. And scars naturally take a while to patch up, so... I could still be fine...

Honestly, I just don't want to think anything else. I've had enough of questioning my immortality.

With a sigh, I look over at the noodles to see Japan watching me. Or, watching my neck. He averts his gaze shortly after.

I smile a little. "Now, don't tell me you feel guilty about that, too, aru. I gave you permission and everything."

He shrugs his shoulders a little. "I suppose little harm was done in the end, if you think so."

Leaning his palms on the counter, he adds, "I've been trying to keep closer track of the death tolls to see if there may be spikes in order of our deaths. But the only significant one was Spain's today—" he pauses long enough to swallow—"and nothing special has happened with Hungary's people yet. So I have no reason to believe there is any other correlation with the events of the island than that which I have already found."

"Good." I give the sauce another whirl around the bowl. "So we just have to bring the others back from the island, and the worst will be over, aru."

"That is a reasonable conclusion."

I turn up the stovetop to start the water for the noodles boiling. "Do you think the magical approach is going to be a big help?"

He folds his arms loosely. "I hope so."

"Yeah." I exhale. "Me, too."


	8. It's a Strange Magic

Author's Note: The last chapter got four reviews. I am sorry if I have failed you.

* * *

_Romania_

Spell books loaded in my pack, I hop in the car. The helicopter's a little ways away, so I'd rather not haul all of these over myself. Half of the covers would probably come off if I did that, too.

I start up the engine and drive for the closest helipad. Admittedly not quite what I had been planning to do today. I'm trying to get more hyped up for the Olympics—just five days away now—since I've kind of had a bad feeling about it.

At this point, it might not even happen, with the crazy bug going around. I hear the Spanish athletes have already been banned from going. Granted, over a million people there died yesterday, and more than that today by noontime. It's not quite as bad in the host country, but he's not doing too peachy, either.

Island stuff, I guess. Maybe it'll make more sense once we find the place. Or maybe it just has to sink in a little more since I only found out yesterday.

* * *

_I've just set down a plate of chiftele when the phone rings._

_"Tsk." I run and grab the handset before the ringing can stop. "Alo?"_

_"Good morning, Romania." I ignore the fact it's just past noon and figure out the caller is Norway. "Do you have time to talk?"_

_I glance at the still-steaming meatballs. "Yeah. What's going on?"_

_"I think I've tracked down a few spells that could be of use for the island situation."_

_"Cool." Chewing on my cheek a little, I lean a hand on my dining room chair._

_"Yes. I was wondering when you would be free to join us and cast a few. Things are getting quite urgent over there, so today or tomorrow would be best."_

_"Wait, wait." I frown. "Is this all, like, a real-life thing?"_

_"Well—yes. Why else would I have asked you to help me research those spells?"_

_"I thought you were writing a play or something."_

_There's silence on the other end, so I chuckle weakly._

_"So—yeah! I'll definitely head over and help, then. Um..." I look at the ceiling. "At your place, or...?"_

_He exhales. "I'm at my house now, but several of us will be going out over the Indian Ocean, at the island's most probable coordinates, to figure this out. I'm not entirely sure of the logistics yet since I've only just determined the most appropriate spells."_

_"Okay, well..." I push on the chair, balancing it on its back legs. "Figure out who's going and how we're getting there, and I'll look through some of my books to see if there's anything else helpful. And then we'll probably go tomorrow?"_

_"All right, that sounds good."_

_"Oh, and one more thing?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"What exactly is going on?"_

_He sighs. "That might be useful for you to know. Now, I've heard most of the story just yesterday myself, so you'll have to bear with me..."_

* * *

So apparently twenty nations walked into a meeting and then walked out onto an island. A piece of paper told them to kill each other, and they rolled with it.

The most important details seem to be that the paper didn't lie. The building, their last solid link to the normal world, vanished as did anything of theirs unattended—which is really kind of cool but nothing I've seen myself before. Played with some theories and unused spells, but not seen. On top of that, anyone who killed the right nation teleported to his or her home—the fading type, it sounds like—and healed up pretty well.

So there's a constant connection between the island and the meeting room that includes everything but the actual nations and the actual island. There's also a dormant connection between the island and each nation's bedroom that can send nation and accessories back over here. Norway didn't know if anyone had brought back a piece of the island, and it may not end up being important, but I'll have to look into that. At any rate, those connections are definitely distinct from one another.

There's also the part about the stars and weather. The stars definitely and the clouds maybe would be outside the barrier—from America's account, the thing hemming it all in is probably a variety of Class 3 spherical barrier—but were still visible and/or dumping rain. And since the coordinates from the stars and the weather patterns match up pretty well, it makes perfect sense that the island is also connected to the normal world at a fixed point—maybe it's just a real island with a bunch of magic dumped on it. Although if it's been there for a while, you'd think some old satellite pictures would have pointed out its existence.

So, I at least had enough information to get started, and Norway's done a bunch of research already. Maybe once I get to chat with the others, more facts will present themselves, and we'll get farther.

It's kind of dumb that we're starting this late. More than a month after the big meeting, and Norway is just getting into the loop—after being warned not to do any magic stuff, no less. Seriously, Germany? Apparently he didn't tell Bulgaria anything, either, just to make sure I wouldn't find out, and that's just straight paranoia. Skeptics will go to some crazy lengths to keep from having to acknowledge magic, that's for sure.

Ah, well. Now that we're in it, we ought to fix it. This is too serious to hold a grudge over being left out. Or, getting back at Germany—totally going to have some poltergeists stalk him for a while—can wait.

Apparently the new plague thing has to do with the bombs _and_ the immortality. I got hit, but no deaths on my land and no island time, so it makes sense. Norway said the nations back from the island hadn't gotten their immortality back completely yet. Don't get me wrong, I trust him, but I'll have to check that out myself. I know nations—and vampires and such, but that's a whole other matter—give off a different vibe than humans, but it's hard to distinguish from other things. It'll be especially weird to be looking for a halfway-between point, or something like that.

It's weird just thinking about immortality like a little piece of aura with varying strength. It's pretty much always an on/off thing. I mean, I can come to terms with it having gradations, but... Hadn't thought about it that way before. I don't think about it much, naturally. Poltergeists, pyrokinesis, fun stuff like that is fine to play with, but once you start trying to toy with immortality, things just get freaky.

I'm guessing a lot of freaky stuff is going on with this, then, beyond the normal level of magical weirdness. Hopefully we'll be able to figure out exactly what parts of it need fixing and be able to fix it. Otherwise, it looks like things are going to get really nasty, for the islanders and a bunch of poor civilians.

Humming along to the radio, I pull into the hospital parking lot and check the time. Their copter won't be here for another ten minutes or so, or longer if an air ambulance needs the helipad in the meantime. Really, America could have planned to land anywhere conveniently open, but he probably wants to show off this helipad since he helped build it. That was... an interesting experience last year.

But there's probably not too much to worry about. Traffic won't be any more than usual, since we haven't been hit by the bug and this hospital isn't ordained to take in those kinds of victims if they do suddenly show up. Separating the hospitals isn't all that convenient for the victims, but everybody else is doing it, and anyone infected—or cursed; let's keep our options open—doesn't really have any better prospects if they get to a hospital, anyway. The lethality rate is killer.

Wow. That was a really terrible pun.

Tapping on the steering wheel to the beat, I let another couple of minutes pass before killing the engine and getting out of the car. After a quick check to make sure the spell books are still intact, I throw the pack of them over a shoulder, lock the car, and walk towards the helipad. The sky is clear, but within a minute a dark blob in the sky starts to come down with a heavy flapping-whirring noise. Given the large American flag painted on its underbelly, I'm assuming it's not one of my air ambulances.

I back up a little, pushing down on my hat so it doesn't fly off, as the copter descends and touches down on the pad. Once the blades are slowed down, I hurry over and climb inside, putting the books under my seat as I sit in the back by Norway. Seat belts strapped on, I don my headset.

"How's it going?" America starts, messing with the controls to take us back into the sky.

"Well enough, thanks. You?"

"The Bomb Plague's going around and all that, but otherwise as awesome as ever."

"Cool."

My stomach lurches a little as we gain height and zoom away, but it's not too much to get used to. The four of us do some chatting as the copter flies, but nothing important. Even if only one of us has been experiencing this thing firsthand, we're all a little tense. None of us, magic-users included, know just how things are going to work out. And when over a million people are dying every day, we kinda really want to figure it all out before it can get worse. But there's not much more to figure out right this moment, so light chat it is.

Light chat and a view. All the shrunken cities and bright, wobbly coastline are pretty fun to just look at. Not that America's about to shut up, but hey. He's an aeronaut type. He's probably so used to this it doesn't make much of an impression anymore. That, and he's got a crapload of controls up there.

We're some distance over the water before I see another helicopter off to the side, kind of following us. I can't tell who's flying, but it's probably another nation. I would imagine that more than four wanted to come on this trip. Fine by me. I don't get stage fright.

And so the ride passes. I carefully leaf through some of my books, pointing out useful-looking sections to Norway, and he shares some typed-up versions of his spells. Great—Old West Norse. That's going to be fun to pronounce without messing up. I haven't tried any of Norway's spells in a while, too.

By the time he's helped me figure out the freakier words, the helicopter's getting close to the place we want. America slows us down some, keeping watch on the coordinates. The vehicle goes silent—well, without talking, at least—as the numbers shift more slowly. Then, with a cry of victory, America shifts us into a hover.

"I take it we're here?" I start.

"Yup," America says, adjusting his headset quickly. "Does it matter what altitude we're at?"

"It shouldn't, at least not enough to worry about." I look out the window and down. "If nothing works, we could give it a shot, but that probably wouldn't be the main problem."

" 'Kay. Fire when ready, then."

"Yessir," I respond, turning to the first text. Tracing beneath the words with a finger so I don't get lost, I slowly read through the spell, focusing on the words as much as the spot below me.

At the last word, I finish but hold my breath, waiting for the pulse of an energy shift. I have to let go and breathe before I feel anything, and when I look down and around, there's still no island to be seen.

With a sigh, I turn the first page over. "Well, that wasn't it."

I give myself a second to roll my shoulders back and blink before focusing on the next page. It reads a little less smoothly than the last one, but I manage to read it through without making Norway cringe from terrible pronunciation. It doesn't do any more good.

Flipping to the next, I glance up at the others I can see. Norway is watching the ocean through his open window, while America is looking less convinced about this method by the minute.

"Third try's the charm," I say, scanning the page before carefully reading through. At the end, I close my eyes, frozen—and then there it is. A sudden throb not quite in sync with my heartbeat, knocking a little breath out of me as the magic goes out.

"Well, that did something," I say, shaking my head and peering out the window. "Oh, look, an island."

Some weird ecstatic gibbering comes from America's general direction as I lean over more to see better. Island, shores, trees, rocks. No nations in sight—while it could just be because I can't see much of the place from here, it might—

"Israel!" America shouts, scooting his seat back. "Man the controls! I'm jumping!"

I start, "Whoa, whoa—"

"We're not up high enough for me to get hurt, don't worry!" His voice fades on the last word as he springs from the helicopter.

I just watch, mouth open with no America here to talk to anymore, as the vehicle rocks and wobbles. Israel scrambles over to the pilot seat, grabbing at the controls before we can get jostled around any more, and pulls us back enough we can all see America plummeting. He lingers in the air just a moment longer before passing straight through branches and vanishing under the mud and roots with a splash that's audible from here.

"Figures," I groan, thunking my head back.

After a second, America emerges, hacking and going under a few times. With a sigh, Israel maneuvers over him and starts, "Unroll the ladder, won't you?"

Norway and I both lean out of our seats, and it doesn't take much fiddling before we get the black roll of ladder unfurling into the open air. At some point America gets to it and climbs up, soaked, into the copter.

"Yeah, that's not going to work," I tell him.

He just blows a wet lock of hair out of his eyes.


	9. Don't You Mess Around with Me

Author's Note: Apologies if anyone is acting out of character in this chapter. As always, feel free to let me know if something's off.

Also, thank you so much for your reviews last chapter!

...Keep it up?

* * *

_Germany_

I'm not about to hold a real meeting for this load of hogwash. That would give the impression I'm buying all of it, and that is very much not the case. We will, however, have a... short symposium. Whatever Norway and Romania pulled was enough to convince a few helicopters full of nations, and I'm going to get down to exactly what that was. If I can pull their little magic trick apart, maybe it will convince the others to get back to business. Not that all of them were particularly productive before...

With a low sigh, I tap on the table, glancing at a clock. Thirteen minutes to 20:00. None of the others are behind the screens in here yet. It's nerve-wracking. If they would just come back over here, we could meet normally, and I wouldn't have to worry that maybe the technology is messing up rather than them.

But, no, they can't come back right now—they're just right on the _brink_ of getting everyone off the island despite revisiting the same coordinates that held nothing the last several times we went there. At least they had the sense to land the helicopter for the night. Not on the island, of course—although they _know_ it's there—but a little bit away in the Maldives.

I wish the others would take this seriously. We have brethren out there scared and dying and civilians over here scared and dying because of it, and we don't even know for sure if dead nations will come back much more. We ought to be doing all we can to locate the island. I can understand why they would desperate enough to try magic, but they just need to calm down and approach this sensibly.

At ten minutes before the agreed time, a few faces start to appear. We get through only the barest of greetings before falling silent and waiting. A few more trickle in—a few more greetings. Once Australia and a shining-eyed America join us, all of the screens are filled.

"All right," I start, resting my hands on the table. "Explain to me exactly what happened."

"Okay!" America exclaims, slamming his hands on the desk enough his image shakes. "So, we all boarded helicopters and flew to the approximate coordinates of the island. I had us hover a while as Romania said some weird stuff, and nothing happened, and he said more weird stuff, and nothing happened, and he said more weird stuff, and then there was the island. So, in a truly heroic fashion, I handed over the controls and jumped for the island straightaway. And I was falling straight over a part of the woods, and then I hit the water. It was really freaky because I could still see all of the ground from the island, but I still swum up, and eventually I got back to the water that actually still looked like water."

As he pauses for breath, I look over to Norway and Romania, whose screens are beside each other. Norway's expression is unreadable, while Romania watches America with more amusement than guilt.

"So I got back to my helicopter, sopping wet and everything, and even though neither of them—" he points behind him to his right, where I assume Norway and Romania are actually sitting—"thought we'd be able to touch any part of the island, we gave it a good look over, just in case, you know? We got down pretty close and looked hard, but no one was there. Some probably-blood, but no nations. Then Romania said some more weird stuff, and nothing happened, and we were starting to run out of fuel, so we went ahead and came over here for the night."

"And that's all you found?" I respond a moment after he stops.

"Uh—yeah." He gives a strong nod.

"All right." I tap a finger on the desk and look around the screens. "Is there any proof this island was something other than an illusion?"

"Well," Romania starts, drawing out the word, "first of all, I wasn't doing any illusory creation spells. They wouldn't have done us any good, so I know Norway didn't bring any, and there could have been a few in one of the books I brought, but I didn't read anything other than illusion-breaking stuff."

I don't blink. "I asked for _proof_."

Romania frowns lopsidedly. He obviously doesn't have any meaningful evidence on this point.

"Oi, didn't they see the S.O.S. our favorite dumb couple put out?"

The coarse voice from behind makes me start, and I crane my neck to see my brother leaning heavily on the doorway, both hands occupied with frothing mugs.

With a sigh, I turn back around. "I don't remember inviting you to this."

He swaggers up next to me, putting one half of his cargo on the table with a clunk. "I brought you a beer."

Avoiding the other gazes in the room, I slide the mug my way. "...Sit down, and don't be disruptive."

And so these conversations tend to go.

With a loud laugh, he pulls up a chair a little too close to me and sits in it backwards.

"What was that about an S.O.S.?" Norway starts.

Prussia holds up a finger as he takes a big swig of his drink. I get a draught of mine while he has the other nations' attention.

"So," he says, setting the mug back down, "the awesome me may have been occupied with other things today, but I heard you found the S.O.S. And I know from bugging them that Loser and Hungary set it up." He tastes his drink again with a sideways glance at me. "That proof enough for you?"

Why is he on their side all of a sudden? "I think it would be reasonable to assume," I reply evenly, "that someone would have made an S.O.S. in the time they spent there. Reasonable enough to throw one in when setting up a little magic trick."

"What was the S.O.S. made of?" my brother responds.

"Looked like rocks to me," Australia says.

"And you," Russia chimes in, waving to get my attention, "usually just carve it in the sand, don't you?"

"I don't think that happens to me often enough to say 'usually'..."

"Point is," Prussia says, "even if they built an S.O.S. into their hologram or whatever you think it is, they couldn't have known what it was made of since you never let anyone who knew talk to them."

He downs another gulp, grinning when he finds me still silent afterwards.

"Lucky guess," I mutter, fingering my own mug.

"Seriously?" America responds, slamming his hands on his desk again for no good reason. I'm surprised his computer hasn't come crashing down yet. "Look, I understand if you don't want to call it magic—I mean, neither do I, since it's obviously more of an alien tech thing—but come on, dude. That was the island."

"Alien tech thing?" Romania echoes, peering over towards America's screen.

"Who cares what I call it, as long as it works?" America says with a shrug.

"That sounded suspiciously like one of China's lines," Korea comments.

America turns on him, but I clear my throat loudly.

"Let's try to stay on track here," I say.

"I'm perfectly on-track," America says, leaning back. "You're the one in denial."

I exhale. "I am not 'in denial.' I'm just avoiding jumping to ridiculous conclusions when other options are possible."

Romania leans closer to his screen, fogging the image a little. "It's a lot more ridiculous to think we somehow set up up a giant hologram without knowing anything and still got everything right. We're not psychic." He pauses. "Well, not _that_ psychic."

After he falls silent, Norway jumps in. "And why on earth would we want to mislead everyone? Even if Romania and I haven't personally been affected, we're hardly going to let all of those people continue dying in droves for—a practical joke or something."

"Which is why I'm letting you drop it now," I reply, tapping a finger on the table.

With an exasperated sigh, Romania tilts his chair so far back his face disappears from the screen. He surfaces a moment later.

"If you just need to see it for yourself, we'll be happy to take you," he says. "America—is there room in any more of the helicopters?"

"Think so."

"There was a free seat next to me," Korea volunteers.

"I don't need to see it!" I respond. "There are more than enough witnesses for me to believe you saw _something_, all right? And I wasn't on the island for the longest time, so I'm not the best qualified to recognize it." I drag my fingers along the top of the table. "Besides, I'm scouting more of the Pacific tomorrow."

"Why?" Romania bursts out. "We already found the island! We don't need to keep looking for it everywhere else! You're the one wasting your time here."

"Fine!" I slam my forearms onto the desk and lean forward on them. "Then what's _your_ plan for rescuing everyone?"

He shrinks back at first but exhales and pulls out a scribbled-on notebook. "Well. It's hard to say exactly how things are going to go, but here's what I have so far."

Looking up from his notes, he continues, "So, the island doesn't appear to be naturally part of our normal world, given the lack of satellite images. Still, since whenever it was created, it would have been visible save for a basic cloaking spell, which is what I broke. From there, it's a little more complicated. Since you don't seem to be nearly learned in magic enough, I'll just say the image of the island is sort of the door to the magical island, but it's shut and locked."

I fold my arms. "And the lack of nations, despite the arrival of scraps showing they're still there?"

He snickers. "So, you're willing to believe the scraps somehow get back without questioning them, but once it comes to this..."

I give him a hard look.

"Anyway." He clears his throat, glancing at his notebook again. "That was kind of a surprise, but it hardly means it was the wrong magical island, because I'm pretty sure there aren't all that many of those. My best guess is that the nations are another link away. Like, our world is connected to the island, which in turn is connected to the nations. It could be possible to bypass the island and get the nations straight back here, but of all the places they could be, I wouldn't hold my breath trying to find them that way. So, we'll work on getting through to the island. Depending on how it goes from there, we could either end up with the nations and maybe the same The Rules spell-deal again, or we'll have to take another leap to get to the stranded guys. We'll take each problem as we come to it, because this stuff is hard to predict."

I drum my fingers on the table. "So you don't have a real plan."

"Nope." He grins. "And it's still better than yours!"

He breaks out laughing, saying something about being glad he's in another part of the world right now, as I put my palms on the table and stand up. Shoving the chair under the table with a bang, I drain the rest of my mug in one go.

"Fine," I say. "Go chase your little fairy island. I don't need your help, anyway."

Without waiting for a response, I storm out, slamming the door behind me.

Wondering where exactly this huge house has beer on tap—I wouldn't be particularly surprised if Prussia just installed it wherever he's staying—I get through some length of hallway before the door opens and shuts a bit more quietly.

"Oi, West—"

"Don't want to hear it." I keep marching ahead, but he catches up with me.

"For the record, I wasn't trying to make you look like an idiot this time."

"No, you were content with doing that to yourself." I glare at him. "What are you trying to do, encouraging them like that?"

He throws his shoulders back. "I'm just trying to help like you asked me to. Not my fault things are getting all magical now. It's freaking weird, but so is particle physics, right?"

I just exhale, so he slaps me on the back.

"Lighten _up_! What's the big deal, anyway?" He swigs his mug. "Scared you messed up keeping it all non-magical, and more scared to fess up?"

"No! That's not it at all. I just..." Rubbing my forehead, I trail off.

After a second of us walking in silence, Prussia cackles.

"Gotcha, didn't I, West? Come on." He bumps my shoulder. "Come on—your awesome big brother knows exactly what's going on in that stubborn head of yours."

I don't say anything. He's wrong, of course. I'm just trying to keep things going the right direction. And that's not playing with magic. I know something weird got us there, and something weird keeps sending back whatever is left behind. I have no rational explanation for either at the moment, but that's not the same as saying it has to be magic. Yes, there's the immortality and the link to the Bomb Plague, and that's hard to figure out. Maybe getting back to the island is hard to figure out—of course it is; I haven't found it yet—but that doesn't mean it has to be magic, either.

There has to be a rational explanation for what's going on. Romania and Norway aren't going to get there stringing random syllables together. It can't work like that. I can't be wrong about this. Things are too serious, Italy and the others have been suffering too much, for me to have been wrong about this the whole time.

So I can't be wrong. No way.

I ask Prussia to lead me to wherever the beer is for the night.


	10. Has He Lost His Mind

Author's Note: This chapter's probably depressing (and sweartastic). Just saying.

But you know what's not depressing? Reviews. Even if you're in the throes of melancholy, just thinking of the glee I get from a simple review from you can bring sunshine to your day. Or at least I really hope so. At any rate it definitely makes me happy.

* * *

_Romano_

It's been two days since Spain died. Yeah, died. Not that it makes any sense, at all. He was fine and no one attacked him, but then he died. Nonsense.

But he definitely hasn't gotten up, and... Two days? Am I sure it's only been two? Because his corpse looks like shit already. Was it this bad the last time he died? I was still dead at the time, so...

"...Veneziano?"

He takes a second to keep staring into the ocean before blinking and looking up at me. His eyes are still misty.

"Huh?" he starts weakly.

I unfold and re-fold my arms, not letting myself take another look behind me. "Did Spain look that bad two days after the last time he died?"

"Do I have to look?" he mumbles back before compulsively snapping his gaze around again to catch any nations sneaking up on us.

I go back to pacing, still trying not to look over there. "Yes."

With great difficulty, he raises his head and cranes his neck to look at Spain. He turns back, putting his chin on his knees without saying anything.

"I guess that's a 'no'," I respond, suddenly laughing. Veneziano looks up at me, but his mouth just hangs open wordlessly for a minute.

"Maybe it's just from the rain," he starts, voice warbling.

"Maybe so!" I respond, pacing harder. "Maybe he'll just come back again fine and dandy! Wouldn't that be nice?"

I pivot too fast, and the sand beneath my foot won't hold me in place. Still laughing, I crash down on my rear and hands, and the impact is enough to shake the first tears out of my eyes.

Yup, Spain's dead, really dead. Just in case it was too hard to figure out when the immortality was gone, we get to see him start rotting like crazy all of a sudden. Well, it's nice to finally know! No more worrying! He's just _dead_, and that's that! The end! Sucks for him!

"Romano..." Veneziano stretches an arm towards me, but I'm way too far for him to reach.

Oh, well! So Spain's dead! What's it matter? Who cares? I know I don't. I never cared about him. I never liked him. I never really like much of anyone—what'd make him special, huh? Nothing, obviously.

So he was nice to me. Big deal. Nations can be nice to nations whenever they want. Of course, it's not like anyone else was honestly nice to me—maybe sorry for me—but who cares! Not me!

And not Spain, either! He may have cared a lot about things, he may of cared a lot about me, but whoops! He's dead now! Guess he doesn't care about me anymore! Guess that leaves nobody to care about me anymore!

"R-Romano!" Veneziano has finally scooted over enough to hug me. "I-I care about you!"

"Oh, was I saying that out loud?" I get out another peal of laughter between chokes of tears.

Veneziano whines my name again, squeezing his arms around my shoulders. In a sudden rage I shake him off.

"So what if you care?" I turn on him. "You _have_ to care, because you're my brother! It doesn't fucking count!"

"Bu—"

"Shut the hell up!" I stumble back before he can try to touch me again. "Shut the fucking hell up!" I struggle to get in enough breath through the crying. "Don't act like you being around makes everything better—anything better! Don't act like anything around here is going to go right!"

I swing a finger towards Spain. "Do you want to tell me he'll get better? I know you don't believe for a fucking second that he will!"

Veneziano desperately pushes himself over the sand towards me. "H-he—" his voice breaks all over the place—"m-might..."

"Do you want to look at him again? Huh?"

He doesn't move his head towards Spain in the slightest.

"Yeah. Because you know he's staying dead. Even if your precious fucking Germany comes to save us, Spain's never going back again."

I try to take in a breath to tell him everything else that's gone wrong, but I just end up screaming and crying harder.

What else do I need to say, anyway? We've already figured out Spain's dead, and we've already figured out he's not coming back. What else matters?

Not me. Not anymore. What difference do I make, honestly? Spain saw something in me—damned if I know what—but he's gone. That just leaves Veneziano. How much good am I to him? What do I ever do for him? Maybe he doesn't want to see me hurting, but so what? The guy doesn't get upset enough with anyone to want to see them hurting. I'm just an extension of that.

Dammit, it doesn't even matter that I'm his brother. He takes care of all of our duties as a nation. I hardly do shit for him. I don't know why he ran to me once the potato-bastard flew the coop. When have I ever protected him? When have I ever done him any good?

Idiot...

He's gone back to hugging me now. I don't have the energy to shoulder him off.

"This isn't making me feel any better," I try.

Veneziano just shakes his head, chin rubbing against the back of my shoulder. "It's going to be all right, okay, brother?" he starts, voice soft but a little stronger than before. "I don't know how, and I don't know when, but... it'll be all right." He squeezes tighter. "D-don't be so sad, okay?"

I don't say a word.

"Please, Romano?"

"Fuck off."

He shrinks a little.

"I said, fuck off," I manage to growl before gasping an inhale. Damn crying... "You're not making me feel better. You're not going to. Just go away!"

"Uh-uh." With another sob, he hugs me hard enough to impede my breathing.

I jostle my shoulders to get him off, but he doesn't budge. Trying to slow my breathing, I give it another shot with no more success. Without any better options, I just stay sitting here limply.

"Why do you even care?" I start quietly. "And don't you dare say, 'Because you're my brother'."

He hesitates for a terrible moment.

"You can't even come up with anything." The worst part is that I'm not even disappointed. "Not one fucking thing."

"I-I can," he chokes out. "I'm just tired and can't think too quick and..."

"Sure. I'm sure that's it."

Apparently he's really thinking hard now, because when I suddenly stand, his grip fails. He looks up at me, but he's not about to stand in his condition. He can't think of a reason he would, anyway.

So that's it. He doesn't care about me, just whoever happens to be his brother. Spain cared about me, but he's dead. Nobody's left. Nobody cares.

No fault of theirs. I haven't done any good for them—why should they care?

Why should I care, then? I'm not doing anybody else any good. Not doing much for myself, either. I've tried looking, but there's no food. I've tried sleeping, but I hardly got any rest. I feel like shit, and it's not going to get better anytime soon.

Oh, yeah, and Spain's fucking dead.

I think Veneziano says something, but I'm crying too hard to hear it.

What am I even doing here? What good is it? All I do is piss off everyone and screw up shit because I'm useless at everything. That's it. There's not even a point of me being on this island since the nation who had to kill me already did it. Do I—Romano, not just Veneziano's brother—mean anything to anyone anymore? Anything at all?

"No."

Veneziano cuts off whatever he had been saying and watches me quaveringly. "Romano?"

"No, I don't," I mutter, immediately aware of the weight in my pocket. I slowly slide out the knife that's already killed me once.

Choking out my name again, Veneziano freezes. What, he thinks I'm going to kill him?

"No worries, Italy," I say, voice rusty. No need to call him Veneziano if there's only one Italy left. "I won't kill anyone who'll be missed."

"Romano!" His voice is suddenly hard, but his effort to stand isn't working any better than it has been for the past few days. I hurry a few more steps away, just in case, before examining the blade, then my wrists.

It's not like I've never just wanted to be done with it all before. But it wouldn't do me any good, and Spain and Veneziano would have just chewed me out after I came back. Now, after all this time—all these years of being Veneziano's stupid little shadow—I can finally end it.

And whatever happens, it can't be any worse than this. I'd have to face it eventually, anyway. I'm definitely going to a worse place than Spain, but... maybe there's a waiting room until Judgment Day, you know? Maybe I could see him one more time... Feel like I mean something one last time...

The knife tip dives into my arm with a sharp bite, blood licking the metal almost immediately—my blood—oh God what am I doing I don't want to die—

Something crashes hard into my back, and I go down, the knife flying out of my hand as I struggle for breath with a screaming nation on top of me.

"Don't you _dare_! Romano—_Romano_!"

With tears of rage, I try to squirm out from under him, but even with Veneziano being a featherweight I barely make ground.

"Get the ** off of me!"

"What do you think you're doing? Romano—"

"Get off!" I slam an elbow into the side of his head, and he rolls off with a cry.

With a guttural sound, I drag myself to the knife and seize it again. I-I'm doing this, dammit. For once in my life I'm not going to be such a fucking coward!

I quickly shift to sit upright, but Veneziano barrels into me again. Making sure not to let go of the handle this time, I roll over with him, but suddenly his elbow crunches onto my wrist and the knife is in his mangled hands. Spluttering from the bitter sand going into my mouth, I try to right myself—in the end he didn't stay close enough to pin me down—and look to find him clutching the knife to him.

"Fine!" I say, scrambling to my feet and feeling a little woozy in doing so. "Keep the knife! I'll just go get a vine and fucking hang myself! Can't stop me from that if you can't keep up, now, can you?"

There. I still win. He can't stop me—and he shouldn't. Of course he wants to, but that's just because he doesn't get it. He's always had someone to care about him. Always had so many nations and people alike to care about him. Even with Spain gone—even with me gone—he still has Germany, and Japan, and France, and Poland, and Hungary, and Prussia, and... And he could never understand being so unwanted. He's never had the feeling in his life.

"No, I can't," he says quietly, looking at me before watching his hands turn the blade towards his chest. Once the tip hovers over his heart, his gaze drags back up to meet mine.

"Vene..." I can't even finish his name.

He continues to meet my gaze solemnly. "If you kill yourself, I'll kill myself."

I stare at the knife. The tip wavers farther and nearer from his chest as his arms wobble.

"Veneziano, put that down..."

"Nope." He continues to watch me, gripping the knife so hard one of the broken bones has shifted back to poke at his skin. "Whether you try it in front of me or somewhere else, if I see you dead, I'm putting this through my heart."

...He's finally snapped. He's finally fucking snapped.

But... he's still Veneziano. There's no way he'd ever do that. He's as much of a coward as me, and he actually has something to lose.

No sooner has the thought gone through my head than he makes a squeaking, yelping sound. A little trickle of blood slides off the edge of the blade onto his shirt. My heart stops before I realize he's only just broken the skin.

"I swear I'll do it." Tears still slide down his cheeks, but he smiles at me. "And you don't want me to, right?" His voice finally goes up in pitch a little. "Because even if you can't think straight about yourself right now, even if you're scared to death to admit it, you're a caring person, Romano. You wouldn't do this if it meant me dying, would you?"

"Fine, no, just put that down—!"

"I can't, as long as you're like this. I can't give you a chance to hurt yourself. And you won't if I'm like this, right, brother? Because even if you hate yourself, you still love me, don't you, brother?"

"Yes, dammit!" I'm crying so hard again it's hard to say anything. "I promise I won't hurt myself—just put that down before you fumble it and kill yourself!"

Still smiling sadly, he shakes his head. "Sorry, Romano. I can't take the chance." His voice is solid again. "I'm not moving this from over my heart until we're either rescued or dead."

"Wh-what if I find something to eat?" I put my hands on the ground, still watching the knife. Some blood is still dribbling down, and he hasn't pulled the tip of the blade out of him in the least. "C-come on, Veneziano. Y-you're just a-acting crazy, you know that?"

"Well, you made me," he chimes. "I can't lose you, okay, Romano? Sorry if it's more annoying, but we can figure out other ways for me to drink, or eat if I can. I haven't been using my hands much recently, anyway."

And now Veneziano's acting completely like himself, without moving that knife from over his heart yet. Just in case the grief wasn't enough to drive me mad, he's trying to totally freak me out, too.

I can't handle any of this. Dammit...

"Okay." My voice is blank as I slide my fingers back through my head. "Whatever you say."

I stumble over to a puddle to get a drink for both of us, doing whatever I can to not look in Spain's direction, even though that doesn't keep one cell of his from rotting away forever.


	11. Thrown for a While

Author's Note: Over 100 reviews already... *sob* I'd like to thank my fans... *goes off into tearful speech that so rouses the audience's emotions they throw roses, babies, and more reviews her way*

Sorry for the slow update. It's a crazy week.

* * *

_Turkey_

"Are we taking off or what?" I look out the passenger window at the other helicopters in the place and then over at Russia on the controls. Neither gives me any answer.

I just thunk my head back on the seat for now and take a swig of apple juice. I don't mean to be impatient, and I should be grateful I got to be in the same helicopter as Romania for this go, but waiting more than necessary is just crazy. At least Japan's not trapped anymore, but other nations are, and things aren't looking good for them.

The Bomb Plague's spreading like crazy now. Of those on the island, nearly a fifth of their people are gone. And then Spain... He'll be lucky to survive this.

Things aren't too bad in the nations that have made it back, but that's just comparing them to the millions gone in the others'. Compared to guys like me with a solid record of zero deaths—knock on wood—they're not doing that well at all.

Finally America gives the okay and starts his helicopter up, and Russia gets our rotor turning shortly afterward. I check my seat belts one last time as we finally head upwards. Our mini-fleet hurries away over the ocean before I look over my shoulder at the two in the back.

"So, how have you guys been doing?" I start.

Norway just acknowledges the question with a nod, looking back at the papers in his hands.

"Well enough," Romania says, prodding a finger into his book so he doesn't lose his place when he looks up. "A little trouble getting back home after my boss found out I was out frolicking with infected countries, but I made it." He pats the book with his free hand. "I haven't been able to look through this too thoroughly—granted, it's only been two busy days since finding the island—but I at least have two to start with."

"Sounds like a party." I put my hands behind my neck and watch the ocean fly under us.

"Yup. Yours any good, Norway?"

Norway's faded reflection in the front window affords Romania a glance. "Not for this particular objective." He looks back at the papers. "You won't be wanting to cast any of these, as a matter of fact—they're just various spells that could be affecting the island at the moment."

"Ooh, cool." Romania leans to look over Norway's shoulder. "You're going to have to translate for me, though."

"Right." He leans away from Romania a little. "I'm working on that—my Old Norse is rusty, to say the least. I may end up calling Iceland... At any rate, you won't need to worry much about any of these today. Sorry I'm not much help right now."

"Naw, you're fine." Romania waves a hand, pulling back into his seat. "It's not like I found particularly much, either." He flips between a few pages. "Like, two spells, actually. But we'll see what happens."

With a shrug, he leans back and examines his book again. The view of the blank ocean bores me enough to look back at him again.

"So, why is it so hard to find the right spell, anyway?" I consider putting my feet up on the dash, but I'm not sure that would be a good idea. "I mean, if it's all translatable real-language stuff."

"Well, I can remember the wording of the more familiar spells, but other stuff takes some time. Like—I can remember Vulgar Latin well enough, but this written junk—" he flashes the book at me—"not so much, you know?" He withdraws the book with a grin. "Or maybe you're not European enough to know that stuff."

I swing a finger to stop in front of his nose. "If you make an EU joke, I will _punch_ you."

"Oh, come on." He sets the book down to raise his fists. "You want to take this outside?"

I open my mouth before glancing at the window. "There's not really a good 'outside' right now."

"Hooray, you figured it out!"

I jab my finger warningly in his face before turning back around.

"Play nice, you guys," Russia puts in, sparing us a glance before looking back out the windows.

"Yeah, yeah." Clearing my throat, I get another drink.

"But, anyway," starts Romania, picking his book back up, "you have to have a really good handle on the language in its original context to really know what the spell does. There are all sorts of weird subtleties you'll miss otherwise, and then you'll end up summoning something that was weird slang instead of what you thought, and... yeah. Aside from sprouting inside jokes like nothing else, it can be pretty inconvenient. I mean, present events definitely show what magic can do."

I shuffle my knees, thinking this thing needs more leg room. "So how much do you have to know about the spell before it'll work?"

"Absolutely nothing." He looks out the window—some island that's hopefully ours is coming towards us. "That's why you have to be careful about pronunciation. Make as little as one word something else, and you may end up casting some crazy other spell. Also why I don't recommend rattling off random strings of syllables. Probably won't get you anywhere nasty, but you never know."

"Neat," Russia comments. "It's not that much like my kind of magic."

"Oh, yeah. That church magic stuff." Romania shrugs. "I don't doubt all of this is from dark magic, but you could always try some of yours if I don't cut it."

"Okay!"

"Although if it's going to take eighteen years, you probably shouldn't bother."

And with that, we come up to the island. Russia gets the helicopter over the shore before pulling the thing into a hover.

"All right." Romania looks out at the sand and then at his book, flipping back a page. "Everybody ready for my first shot at this?"

"Go ahead," Russia says while I put in, "Give us your best shot."

"Okay." With one more look out the window, Romania focuses on his book and starts reading. His tone stays even as the spell goes on, but his hand gets to shaking a little before he gets to turn the page. Not missing a beat, he continues until the passage ends.

Then he slumps so much me almost drops the book.

"Well, that did _something_," he says, almost slurring. He blinks rapidly before rubbing his forehead.

I look out the window. The island's still there. How much there, we're not sure just yet.

"Yeah, he finished the first spell." Russia looks off towards one of the other helicopters. I'm guessing they're the ones he's talking to, because we know this pretty well. "I didn't see anything change, but he knows it did something. Oka—" He cuts off just before the helicopter ahead of us swings around and starts to drop. It's probably America jumping out of the pilot seat.

Why was he driving the thing if he was just going to jump out anyway...? Eh, whatever. The copter's not falling out of the sky anymore, and somebody has to go check. Might as well be someone who can load up all of the survivors if they're there. And swim if they're not.

I lean forward as America drops through the sky. Arms spread wide, he prepares to embrace whatever hits him at ground level—

And he slams to a stop on the sand.

For a second, he just lays there, and we just stare. But he's really just lying down. Not floating. On something solid. The island's freaking solid.

"The island's freaking solid!" I whip around in my seat to look at Romania, but he's just kind of zoned out. "Hey! You hear me?"

"Yeh." He rolls his head to the side to look out the window but doesn't seem to really see anything. "Anybody got... juice or something?"

"What, are you magic-diabetic or something?" I pull out my bottle of apple juice, anyway. "Go ahead. But if you get any backwash in it, I will punch you."

He waves a hand towards the bottle before finally getting a grip on it. "You're really looking for an excuse to punch me today, aren't you?" With a yawn, he opens the bottle.

"No reason not to." I turn back around and look out the window.

America's finally made it to his feet down there. He takes a few steps, stoops over, and scoops up some of the sand. Throwing it in a random direction, he throws his head back to laugh—surprisingly, I can't hear it over the rotor spinning—and takes off for the trees.

He doesn't quite make it before he loses his footing. His heel strikes the sand to swoop forward at a bit of an angle, but then the ground swallows it up, and the next thing I know, he's gone.

Norway inhales sharply, and I just watch without a word until America's head reemerges. His hair is plastered to his head and a good deal shinier than usual.

He hit the water again? Dang it—we _just_ landed on the island, and now it's gone again.

And then America manages to plant his hands somewhere in the middle of the sand and roll back up on it.

...Okay, yeah, I give up. Let's just see what happens.

"Russia." Norway's voice is tight as he leans forward towards the pilot seat. "Tell him to get away from the island _now_."

"Hum?" Russia glances back at him. "Okay. Hopefully his headset is still working."

After a second of adjusting his mouthpiece, Russia starts, "America, Norway said you need to get off the island now." A pause. "I don't know, but he sounded pretty urgent. The others can wait a few more minutes if it's really something that bad, da?"

America finally starts for the shore, and his feet don't seem to hit water until he's made it off the sand. He gets through a bit of wading before plunging down again, where he starts swimming away.

He's probably not going to be wearing those shoes to any more meetings. Did he really think we had to be close enough to cracking this he wouldn't get wet again?

Eh, who cares. If nothing else, watching him try to dry off his glasses while swimming is amusing enough to make up for it.

After a little more chatting on the headsets, America's helicopter drops a ladder for him, and he heads back up.

"So, what just happened?" Russia starts, glancing at Norway's reflection in front of him.

Norway exhales, squinting at the island. "I'm not entirely sure. Romania managed to establish some sort of connection, but not a stable one."

He looks out the front window to make completely sure America's out of the danger zone. "And the last thing we want is someone wandering around an area that's not consistently tangible. Even if the second spurt of the connection was uneven enough to let him out, he still could have ended up with some traces of sand inside him. If that had happened the tiniest bit differently, we'd have to fish his body out ourselves."

"Oh!" Russia looks back at the sand wonderingly. "Neat."

Not reflecting much on his appreciation of America's possible death, I watch the island to see if there are any sorts of light shifts or anything. There really doesn't seem to be any way to tell when it's tangible or not, though.

"So, Romania, are you going to fix it or what?" I turn to see him slumped up against the closed window. His book and my juice are off to the side.

"Yeah, I'm just going to sleep now," he mumbles, shifting his elbow beneath his head for a pillow. "Norway, you do it."

Norway shifts in his seat. "You know I'm not good at casting..."

Romania doesn't respond, and after a while it's clear we're not getting anything else out of him today.

"Well, then." I look at Norway. "You gonna at least give it a shot?"

He frowns at the book on the floor. "Chances of success with me casting are low enough already. Make the spell in Latin, and it's even worse..."

I reach to get my bottle back. "So what? A little chance of it working is better than no chance."

"But if I mess it up, any number of things could happen..." With an exhale, he looks back out the window. "It's just a bad idea. We should head back to base for now. I can look more into my research while Romania recuperates."

"Are you sure?" Russia starts, not keeping the disappointment out of his voice.

Norway only responds with a curt nod.

"America's really not going to like this," Russia hums, fiddling with his headset. "America, it looks like we've done all of the magic we're capable of for the day. Ready to head back to Maldives's place?" After a pause, he laughs. "Yes, we're sure."

After another minute, the helicopter shifts and starts to move.

"Okay," Russia says, glancing at me, "we're going to give it one last good look-over to make sure we can't see any of the nations down there yet. Keep an eye out, okay?"

" 'Kay."

I lean out of my seat a little as we draw closer to the island and start moving over it. There's definitely no one in the sand there, but it's a little harder to tell with the trees. Various murky shapes seem to move, and some branches definitely move because of the wind the helicopter stirs up. I can't say I'm seeing any nations, though. Animals, either.

"Nope, nothing from this helicopter," Russia says as we pull away from the far stretch of shore. He shifts his headset to tell us, "Doesn't look like anyone else had a sighting, so I guess we're done here for now."

He glances back at Romania, who has now begun to snore quietly. "How long is he going to be like that?"

Norway shrugs. "I don't know exactly how much that took out of him. I would expect a few hours, but that's nothing to bet on."

"All right, then," I say, watching the water pass under the helicopter again.


	12. It Can't All Be Bad News

Author's Note: So the Pitchapalooza results come out tomorrow. Can't get it off my mind. Wish me luck that my pitch is one of the twenty-five chosen!

And if it is not, I will be in a severe state of depression that only reviews can alleviate. Leave me one now, just in case?

* * *

_Canada_

Taking a deep breath, I slowly unwind my fingers from around the tap. There are still a few indents on the metal, but overall it looks normal enough. Not like I've been trying to rip it out to defend myself from my own bizarre fantasies.

Those haven't been hitting so hard lately. I didn't have any at all yesterday, and I'm hoping today will end up no worse. I'm not going to be so naïve as to think I'll just be able to rest and go about my business cheerfully all day, but... Some bad panic attacks, I can handle. Hallucinations of the island, not so much.

I take a minute to wash my hands before going through the cabinets. I'll go ahead and make some pancakes for breakfast, since I'm starving and France is still asleep. Certainly there's nothing wrong with him doing the cooking—at all—but if nothing else I haven't been getting my proper dietary amounts of maple syrup lately.

That, and I need to get back to doing things for myself. I really appreciate all of the help, but there's only so long this can go. France has missed at least one meeting for my sake, and he hasn't been able to do much for anyone else in all of this. The last thing I want is to hinder progress when things are so urgent.

In fact, I need to be doing more to help. Well, doing _something_ to help. I'm not sure exactly where I'm needed, since I haven't watched any meetings, and my government has been taking steps without trying to ask me. But there has to be some way I can help. I'm probably not quite fit enough to go on helicopter rides, and... I kind of really don't want to go back to the island, even if it's saving everyone.

Or, saving whoever's left. England isn't. Even if the disease's death toll isn't as bad at his place as it is in Spain's, it doesn't mean he's alive. We don't know what the connection between the plague and the island is, anyway—and I know he's dead. France hates seeing me upset, so of course he's going to try to make me believe otherwise, but... I just know. This is one mistake I won't be able to fix.

But—but—I can still do some good, right? I'm not sure how many nations I killed, or how many among them are still on the island, but I can still do something to save them, if they've made it back to life. Even if it's too late to save England, I can at least try to make up for other things I did.

A little shiver goes down my arms, and I neglect the forming pancakes for a moment to warm my hands over the heat. I barely find the right pocket of air before a few droplets splash onto my arms. With a shuddering inhale, I shake them off and wipe my cheeks, but the crying hasn't stopped. Turning down the heat on the stove, I step aside for a second, still trying to rub my face dry.

Calm down... Calm down. You've had long enough to deal with killing England, all right? Even if it'll never really go away, the least you can do is stop crying all of the time...

"Ah, Canada!"

I freeze before swallowing and trying to get the last of the tears off my face. By the time I turn around, France has made it to the kitchen doorway.

He doesn't look that good. It's pretty obvious he's only just woken up—although he did put on some pants, oddly enough—but his ungroomed hair is hardly the only thing off about him. The lining of the bags under his eyes is too dark to have just shown up overnight, and he's almost pale enough to look sick. I think he's gotten even less sleep since the sudden turn of events in Spain. I wouldn't be surprised if he's been using a little makeup, but he hasn't gotten around to it yet this morning.

Pulling some bangs out of his face, he leans on the doorway, glancing at the pans on the stove, then at me.

"Already up and at it, huh?" he sighs.

"Yeah." He luckily doesn't seem to have noticed any signs of my crying, but then again his eyes are a bit bleary. "Do you want pancakes, or would you rather make something for yourself?"

He yawns. "Whatever you like." With another glance at the stove, he adds, "Are you sure you're up to working that much? I don't want to push you too hard..."

"No, no, I can handle it." I walk over to the stove and turn the heat back up, shuffling one of the future pancakes around. "Go ahead and get dressed, and I'll call you when they're ready."

"Oh, no, no, no." He sweeps over to stand next to me, hands on his hips. "I am not leaving you unattended by the stove. You would have caught the house on fire if I hadn't shown up when I did."

"Well, I'm doing better than I was at first, okay?"

He does his best to give me a steady look as his eyelids droop.

"The smoke detector works," I try. "If anything goes wrong, you'll know."

He sighs, biting his lip. "All right. I'll hurry back, though."

"Okay, if you really want to."

He lingers long enough to watch me flip the first pancake before he drifts away.

* * *

I have a sizeable stack made up by the time France returns. It doesn't seem like he rushed that much, but at any rate he looks a lot more fresh now. It's not quite so hard on me, even if I'm only part of the reason he's frazzled.

After glancing back at him, I flip another of the cakes.

"You can go ahead and take a few for yourself," I say. "I'll have the rest done in less than a minute."

"Oh, I can wait." He leans against a far counter for a second, watching me. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Not particularly. You could pour some milk or get whatever toppings you want from the fridge, if you want."

"All right." Suppressing a yawn poorly, he walks to the fridge and starts going through things. I turn my attention back to the pancakes and finish cooking them, turning off the stove as I pick up the steaming plate and start for the dinner table. France has left a nice gap between my jug of syrup and his whipped cream, so I set the plate there and grab another dish for each of us.

France watches me set his plate in front of him.

"So you made it this long without any flashbacks or anything?" he starts.

I nod, sitting down and transferring some of the stack onto my plate. "I already made it through yesterday without a single flashback, and I don't remember having any nightmares about the island, either. I think—"

I'm cut off by a loud blast of music. Dropping some pancakes on his plate hastily, France apologizes and fishes out his phone.

"Hello?" He listens, unscrewing a jar of fruit preserves one-handed. "Ah, all right. What time?"

His eyes have strayed from me to the meal, and I get the feeling he's not thinking to put this on speaker for me. Or thinking that I'm here. Oh, well...

"So, 9:00 here, then? I should be able to do that." He starts spreading the crushed blueberries over his stack. "Is this just something routine, or has something happened that I am unaware of?"

After a second's pause, he puts down the knife with a loud clank. "Oh! Excellent! How—well, I guess I'll find out then." He resumes preparing his pancakes. "All right. I'll be there. _Au revior_."

He hangs up, turning his attention to the whipped cream without another word. Exhaling, I butter and syrup my stack to give him time to let me know what happened, but he doesn't. I clear my throat, but he still doesn't look up from the pancakes I made.

"France?" I finally start.

He jumps a little, lowering the slice of breakfast on his fork. "Oh! Um... yes, Canada?" He flushes a bit but puts the piece of pancake in his mouth.

I sigh, cutting up a slice for myself. "Who was that?"

"Uh—Norway." He takes a swig of milk. "They're going to hold another meeting about progress on finding the island. It'll be—" he glances at a wall clock—"a little more than an hour from now."

I look at the clock myself. 7:55. So France remembered he was in my time zone, but not that it was because I'm here, too. I will never understand how on earth these nations' minds work in forgetting me.

"All right," I respond before taking my first bite of soaked pancake. Gosh, it's been way too long since I've had this. I'm surprised I haven't had any withdrawal symptoms. Although I guess they would have been pretty well-disguised...

"I'm sure you're invited, too," France says, "if you think you'd be able to handle a meeting."

"Why couldn't I?" I smile. "Especially if we're half the world away from everyone else trying to strangle each other, eh?"

"Oh, no—this isn't a routine meeting." He chuckles. "Besides, it's usually me they're trying to strangle—for whatever odd reason." He shrugs exaggeratedly.

I laugh just enough to be in danger of spitting out food. Thankfully that doesn't happen.

We just eat for a while before France looks up at me again.

"In all seriousness, though. If you feel any sort of panic attack coming on during the meeting, just let me know and we can go off to the side for a while."

"Right..." I swallow. "I'll... I'll be okay, though."

He gives me a look that isn't entirely convinced, so I continue before he can voice it.

"Really. I may have never been through this exactly before, but I've been through hard enough times to know how this works. I'm getting better, and there's no reason to believe that won't keep up." I inhale. "In fact, it's about time I started pulling my own weight on this whole thing. I don't want to see the island again, but what else is there that I can do?"

Blinking, France takes a second to finish his current bite of food before replying. "I—I'm not entirely sure. We could probably catch someone after the meeting and see if they need help. And... I'm sorry if I sound like a broken record, but are you sure you want to jump in? It's an awful lot to handle, and the last thing your big brother wants is for you to push yourself too hard and break all over again."

"I'll take it easy. At first, for sure." I idly cut into my last pancake. "I'll have to face all of it eventually, though. And I already know the death toll has hit one million in my own country..." I rub my arm to get rid of the chill.

It won't erase the ache, though. Even if this isn't as sudden as something like the Halifax Explosion, I can still feel the deaths as they stack up. And so many gone, after just... what? A week or so? It all makes me feel like something is slowly crushing the life out of me...

But I can handle it. I'm a nation. I have to.

And it's certainly not going to get any better if I don't do anything to help out. I'm not going to claim my effort is what's going to save the day, but it has to be worth something. There's just no excuse to keep shrugging it off.

Especially when there are other places doing a lot worse. What exactly is the death toll in Spain now? England?

Oh, dang it, don't you start on that again...

I haven't completely registered France's absence from the other side of the table before he hugs around my shoulders from behind.

Feeling stupid, I quickly wipe off the newest wave of tears. "S-sorry. I'm okay, I promise."

He sighs, not letting go. "You don't look that okay to me. What is it?"

"Oh, just..." I remove my glasses to dry them. "Same old, same old. You know, England being dead because of me and all..." I choke on the last word.

"Ah." France exhales. "You have not taken his life once and for all, Canada. I can't understand why you refuse to believe me..."

I just shake my head, smiling sadly. "Let's just—Let's not..." I take a deep breath. "No point bringing it up if neither of us is going to change his mind, right? Let's... talk about..." I swallow. "Wh-what was it Norway mentioned that got you so excited?"

With a final squeeze, France lets go and drifts back to his seat. He watches me for a minute—not helping me feel like any less of a crybaby, by the way—before answering.

"Did I already tell you they sort of established a connection to the island yesterday?"

No, but I may have seen it over your shoulder while you were checking email. Nice to know you intended to tell me, at least...

"Um, yes."

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Well, it looks like they got it stabilized. I'm not completely sure what all that means yet, but it sounds magnificent!"

I swallow the last piece of breakfast on my plate. "Definitely. I hope we get to everyone soon."

He nods vigorously.

Setting my fork in the middle of my plate, I glance at France's place to see if he's done, too, before my throat closes up a little.

Oh, no.

I start taking deeper breaths, but I can already feel my heart thumping faster and faster and fasterandfaster—

Immediately I get out of the chair, inform France I'll be back, and run for my bedroom. I hope that wasn't too suspicious, but I can'treally...

I'mgoingtoloseit I'mgoingtocompletelyloseit—

Ssh, ssh. Just a panic attack. No real reason to think anything bad—

Nonono thisisit I'mgoingtocompletelylosemymind nonononono

WhyamIalone Ican'tdothisI'mgoingtoloseit nononoFrancehelpIcan't—

Deep breaths. Come on, dang it...

I'mgoingtoloseit Ican'tdothis Ifinallycamebackfromthatplac e Ican'tdothatagain helpIcan'tdothisFrancehelp—

No. It's going to be fine. Just hold out this once, and France will believe me enough to go off and help someone else who needs it. Deep breaths. I can do this.

Ican'tdothis nononoIcan'tlosemymindagain butI'mabouttoloseitIcanfeelit nonononono...

In a trembling heap by the door, I try harder to slow my breathing, hoping France doesn't walk in while I'm like this but hoping more I won't need him to.


	13. Just Beyond My Reach

Author's Note: ALERT—ALERT—OC NATION HAS BEEN SPOTTED—YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

You may now return to your normally programmed reading and reviewing.

* * *

_Flying Mint Bunny_

I circle the house until an open window provides enough space for me to slip inside. The tang of whisky is a little much when I first squeeze into what must be the bedroom, but once I'm into the halls and then the living room, it's not so strong.

After a brief swoop, I plop down at the computer desk. It's still ten minutes to 14:00, but the VoIP is already pulled up. No one's sitting in the seat straight across from this camera, but there are a few people chatting off to the side somewhere. Some of the computer screens already have faces, but we pretty obviously haven't started the meeting yet.

"Och, when'd ye get here?"

I scramble around to see Scotland walking in.

"Just a minute ago!" I fly over towards him, though he swats when I try to land on his shoulder. "How are you doing today?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Looked around the place recently?"

Flying another circle, I check the room. There are a few bottles, pieces of clothing, and dishes, but nothing particularly out of order.

"I meant outdoors," he grunts, sinking into the computer chair.

"Oh, that." Ears lowering a bit, I land on the desk and scuff at the wood.

It's not that nice outside, and I don't mean rainy. Scotland's place is a little better than England's in all of this, but it's still been kind of chaotic. At least more people are staying in their houses now, even if that can't be fun for them. Too bad the Olympics got cancelled, too, but I guess nobody would dare to go.

"Yes, that." Choking down part of the bottle in his hand, he leans back with a sigh. "Why of all of us did the pansy have to end up on that island? If I'd've been there, I would have made it out long ago."

I sigh, stretching. "You know—"

"Of course, he's the whole bloody U.K. now—I've figured out that much. I just dinnae ken why he gets to do everything while I sit back here, halfway nae even a nation," he spits. "Although it hardly makes the deaths of my countrymen hurt any less. I just get the best of both worlds."

He drains the rest of his bottle as America calls the meeting to order. Sort of relieved—even if Scotland's not usually as fun as England, he's feeling especially rotten today—I back up to see the meeting room better.

"So yeah! Awesome stuff to talk about today. Now, I was responsible for a lot of the work in discovering this, of course, but we'll go ahead and start with Romania today." A scraping sound as America drops into his chair. "You're up, dude."

"Thanks for the, um, humble introduction, then," says Romania. He stands to my left, almost offscreen.

Immediately a low growling sound makes the speakers crackle a little. The others don't seem to notice, and it goes on for a second before a voice to the side whispers Hungary's name a few times.

"As you know," Romania says, drumming his fingers on the table, "yesterday I managed to get a physical connection to the island, and today we got it stable. Now, there's no saying just how stable, but our lovely assistant America ran around on the sand for an hour or so, so it's definitely some kind of stable. And, yes, America, I just called you a lovely assistant, but we can fight about it later."

America lowers his hand.

"So, the next step is figuring out how to get to the nations," Romania continues. "Yes, the island may not be entirely stable, but it's good enough not to warrant further expedition into that area. So, while we know this is the right island, we still haven't caught sight of the nations. It's going to take—" he slows down for a yawn—"a lot more research to figure out how to do that, but that's okay since I don't think I'll be doing any more big spells today. Possibly not tomorrow, either, if we don't find enough resources, but I'll figure out the last spell standing between us by the end of the week for sure."

Dipping his head, he slides down into his chair. "Any questions?"

"Yes, aru." China scoots his seat in a little. "Is there anything the rest of us can do to help speed the research?"

"Well..." Romania wets his lips. "You could let me know if you have any good Chinese spells, I guess, but I'm a little too likely to butcher the pronunciation. Anyone good with Old Norse and such or written Latin could help weed out the irrelevant stuff, though. It'll be tough to get a lot of us from here to Europe, especially since Russia's an infected country, but if we can get that worked out... Yeah. We could use a helping crew."

"If anyone here wants to volunteer," Norway starts, "I can start making a list."

He starts saying nation names, going down the side of the table, and everyone responds with a "yes" or "no."

"Germany?" Norway continues, eyes flashing at the nation on the other end of the table. "I don't suppose you'd like to jump in yet?"

Germany leans onto the table a bit, his eyes closed. "I am not familiar enough with those languages," he says quietly, voice strained. "Sorry."

Has he been here the entire time? I thought he always started these things. Huh. Although I guess I haven't been to very many since England got onto me for distracting him.

I can't help but fidget a little. I haven't tried to visit England in a while—is he doing any better? The nations won't get to him for a little while, it sounds like, but... Oh, I really want to go and check on him now! It's a long way from here to the island, but I can make it there by tomorrow, right?

"Scotland!" I start, flying up on top of the computer.

Scotland grabs the monitor when it wobbles. "What?" he whispers harshly, glancing back at the ongoing rollcall.

"I'm going to fly over to the island now, okay?"

He squints. "What do I care? Go on ahead."

"Okay. See you!" I hop into the air, circling the living room before figuring out which way it is to the open window. Then I circle the house until I know which direction's which, and I'm off.

* * *

It's nearly evening before I finally find the right island. Exciting as it is, I've been flying more than a day, so I'm going to go ahead and have a little power nap now...

* * *

Upon waking up, I swoop through the air a few times to get the sand out of my fur and enough wind in my face to wake me completely. I don't completely remember where everybody was, but I know England was in the trees somewhere.

So, with a tiny yawn I start sweeping the area.

I end up seeing the two on the shore first. Italy and Romano. Both look sort of asleep, but without their eyes closed. I'm not sure what Italy's holding, but he's clutching it to his chest tight.

I start zipping through the trees, in a long zigzag so I can't miss anything. Or anybody, I guess.

The first anything or anybody I find—just a little bitty bit behind Italy and his brother—is too far gone to really be identifiable, but there's no particular reason to think it's England, and I don't like looking at it, so I fly past.

It's a while of flying longer before I see anybody else. Still not England, though. I go ahead and fly a little higher to check on her, but Liechtenstein is still curled up in the nest, her chest moving just enough to prove she's alive.

Watching her sleeping is almost enough to make me tired again, so I swoop back down and start dodging trunks. They're not magical enough to be solid enough to hurt me when I run into them, but it's more exciting flying through if I act like it's an obstacle course. Zoom, dodge, zoom!

I reach the shore and turn around three more times before seeing anybody else. Blonde, but still not England. I don't remember who this one is—one of the Baltic nations?—but he's at least sitting up now, fiddling with the papers in his briefcase without looking at them.

"Hey!" hollers someone as branches and twigs crack to the left. "Estonia!"

Oh! Is that his name? That sounds right.

Estonia slowly turns his head towards the source of the sound, who emerges from the trees panting and swinging his arms around.

"I totally found some berries that aren't breaking me out or anything!" He manages to still one of his arms long enough to open a hand, revealing eight little, bumpy berries. "Check it out!"

Looking at Poland's neck, Estonia swallows and says. "Great—but you know I can't really... 'check it out'."

"Well, whatevs." Poland takes Estonia's hand and slips him three of the berries. "Just, like, eat it, then."

"Thanks."

I haven't eaten in a while, either... But oh, well! I can't eat anything here, anyway. To England!

Ducking under a branch, I speed through more trees, hit the shore, and then go speed through other trees. Nobody, nobody, and nobody there...

I pause for breath at the next edge of the woods and then go in again. Finally, near the other end, I find him.

Compared to the last time I was here, he looks a lot better. A lot less dead-looking. He's still shrunk-up and lying in the same place, but at least his skin's normal-coloured, excepting the dark, splotchy band across the bottom of his neck. But his arms and legs are in kind of awkward positions, his eyes are closed, and a couple of bugs are trying to crawl on him. I attempt to nudge them away, just in case they're magical enough, but they pass through me and keep going on their merry way.

"England?" I start, flying lower. I don't know if he'll be able to tell I'm here. Last time he definitely couldn't because there wasn't much of him to tell if anything was there, but... Even earlier, when I found him here the first time, he didn't notice me. But there's a lot less magic floating around this place now, so maybe it'll be easier for him to pick me out.

Experimentally, I hold my breath and land on his stomach. I don't pass through.

Yay! Maybe that's just because he believes in me whether he sees me here or not, but it's something.

I hop across his chest to where I can reach his face, and he coughs a little.

"England!" I nudge his jaw, and his head bobs a little, but it takes a while before he opens his eyes. He just stares in front of him for a second before closing them again.

"England, please wake up." I start prodding my nose at a different part of his chin. "I know you have to be tired, but I-I haven't talked to you in really long, and I want to make sure you're really okay, and everybody's really close to coming here, so you don't have to be worried, and..."

He finally holds his eyelids open long enough to blink a few times. I jump up and fly in little circles over him to make sure he can see me.

"Hi, England! Sorry for waking you up. Good evening, though!"

He just stares into the leaves, still blinking slowly.

"England...?" I land on his shoulder, but he doesn't turn his head to follow me.

M-maybe he just can't see me yet? I could have underestimated how much magic was still here, since all of the hiding spells and things don't affect me, but...

I go up in the air again and, watching him carefully, shoot straight across where he's looking. His eyes follow me.

"Okay, you _can_ see me." I turn around and lightly land on his chest. "You're not smiling, though. Do you feel that bad?"

I go up to nuzzle his cheek. "I'm sorry if it's bad, but—if you were too asleep to hear me—the others are almost here, okay? You'll be fine."

He still doesn't say anything, so I fly over again to make sure I haven't somehow dropped out of his perspective. I haven't. There's no reason he could see me without hearing me, though.

"England?" My voice is getting a little wobbly. "Can you please say something? Even if you're feeling really bad, I just wanted to talk to you a little bit. Please?"

He watches me fly in slow circles but doesn't open his mouth.

"Y-you're not mad at me, right?" I start even though it's silly. He's never, ever been mad at me. Not mad enough to try to ignore me, at least. And I know he can see and hear me, but...

"You... _can_ t-talk... c-can't you?"

He just watches me fly. I don't feel like flying anymore.

I land on the ground next to him, folding in my wings.

I guess he can't talk. And—and if he can stay awake this long, he should have been able to shuffle himself around. But his arms and legs haven't budged since I came here—since I came here last time, either, so... He just can't move at all? Is that it?

Quivering, I watch him for a second before I scurry over to one arm and start nudging it. Getting it straightened out, I fly to the next one and fix it. Then I move his feet so both of his legs are straight. It has to be more comfortable for him now, right? If he can still feel...

Drawing in a shaky breath, I hop over beside his head.

"I hope that feels better." I nuzzle his cheek a little. "You can go back to sleep if you want, okay? Everybody'll be here in just a little while, and then they can fix you up. Or if they can't, I'll get Unicorn. Okay? It'll all be all right—just hang on a little longer.

I pull away. "I know you can."

Just in case he can say something after all, I linger for a minute, but he doesn't do anything until his eyelids droop shut.


	14. Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now

Author's Note: I feel like I haven't gushed thanks for reviews in a while, so THANK YOU. To everyone. And especially those who review. And especially those who review every chapter. But mostly everyone.

And an additional thank you to inkedvigilante's for the fan art at

savourless . tumblr (dotcom) /post/43269346738/epic-aph-fanfics-of-doom-and-lovely-writing !

Now review. (That's as creative as the request is getting this chapter, sorry.)

* * *

_Sealand_

Feet thumping on the pavement, I hurry up to the doorway, set down my stuffed backpack, and knock.

"Hello!" I add loudly in case the door knocker doesn't do it. "Please let me in!"

Letting go of the brass handle, I pick up the bag again—gosh, this is heavy—and wait, bobbing on the balls of my feet.

This is going to be great! Everybody's been looking for the right spell for ages, but they've only been looking through Romania's and Norway's books. They still haven't found it, though—and if it's not in there, where else could they find it but in England's books? So I brought a bunch of old ones with weird writing from his basement.

I bet I found what they're looking for! And if the other nations get to come home and be immortal again because of this, I'll have saved all of their lives, so they have to recognise me as a country! Especially jerk England!

Something clicks behind the door, and it swings open. Instead of Norway, Japan looks down at me.

"Good morning!" I start before he says anything. "I brought important information for the matter at hand!"

"Ah, welcome," he says with a nod, stepping back to let me in.

I hurry into the foyer before checking out the entryways to figure out where everybody is.

"Would you like me to take you to the main room?" Japan starts, catching up to me.

"Is that where everyone is? Yes, please!"

He nods and walks over to one of the doorways. Past that is a hallway with the same red-and-silver carpet, and we get past a bunch of doors before the corridor opens up.

I can hear the chattering before we get there, but, once we're standing in the atrium, voices are bouncing round everywhere. Of course, nations are scattered everywhere, looking through books in groups or alone, ferrying things to other nations, chasing each other, yelling at each other, and everything else.

"Where's Norway?" I start loudly, turning back to Japan.

"He should be somewhere in here," he says, glancing at the crowds, "but I can't be sure where. If he isn't at the moment, he'll return soon."

"Okay, thanks!" I hurry into the room, and Japan slips back into the hallway.

Aah, so many nations! How do I even start to get through this place?

"Hey, Sealand!"

I spin, trying to keep the backpack from falling off, till I find Seborga waving.

"Oh, hey!"

Sidestepping someone who's fallen asleep on the floor, I hurry over towards him. He puts his arm back down, wrapping it round the stack of books he's holding. In the meantime, Monaco hands him a few more from a crate. Despite all of the groups of nations reading, there are still crates and crates full of spellbooks stacked against the wall.

I come to a stop, staring at the crates. "Whoa, do you still have to read all of those?"

Studying the bridge of one of the volumes, Monaco shakes her head with a smile. "Not quite. They may not seem well-separated, but I assure you we need only leaf through half of these, if that. I'm attempting to check the titles, as an initial screening. If we remain unsuccessful after browsing these—" she motions to the stack in Seborga's arms—"we could always come back to those we overlooked, however."

I grin. "Well—"

"Monaco!"

I'm cut off by Seychelles veering in front of Monaco and the crates. Braids swinging, she comes to a stop and waves a book at Monaco.

"France says this one is a no-go, too."

Setting down her own book, Monaco takes it. "All right, thank you."

With a nod, Seychelles turns, takes a book from Seborga, and rushes back to whence she came.

Setting down my bag, I clear my throat loudly. "As I was saying, _I_ brought some spellbooks from Jerk England's place that probably have something good."

"Ah, I see." Monaco glances at the backpack. "Perhaps those would fit better with Norway's books."

"Uh, okay?" I stare at the crates.

Seborga chuckles. "These are just Romania's. Norway's are..." He cranes his neck to look past other nations before giving up. "Well, they're along the wall somewhere, right, Monaco?"

"I believe so."

"Okay." I bend to scoop up the backpack again. "I'll go find those, then?"

"They're in wooden crates," Seborga offers before Macau cuts in to take more of his load.

"All right, see you later!" I hoist the bag onto my shoulders. "And remember, when they find the right spell, it's only because I brought these!"

Seborga grins. "All right."

Ducking out of the way of Switzerland—who's marching towards Romania's books—I start scurrying along the wall, looking for the other crates. There are a bunch of random wooden tables with flowers along the wall, and a few random nations as well, so it's hard to hurry. That, and Romania almost chases Moldova into the wall. Luckily they both manage to avoid it.

I'm not even going to ask what that's about. Land nations are weird.

The crates haven't shown up by the time I get to a couch and some matching chairs against the wall. I don't keep going past them, though.

"Papa!" I run to the nation in the middle chair to hug him, but I kind of trip and fall on top of the chair handle.

Sweden lets go of his book to pull me up by the shoulders. "Mornin'."

"Morning," I reply before he's quite lifted my face away from his shoulder.

"Hey, it's the tyke," Denmark comments, sitting up. "How's it going?"

"Good." Back on my feet, I shuffle the bag off my shoulders. "Really good! I brought some of England's spellbooks to check out, since you all don't seem to have found the right stuff yet." Letting the backpack thump to the ground, I squat and unzip it.

"When did you manage to take England's spellbooks?" Norway starts, lowering his eyebrows.

"Eh?" I pull out the first book. "This morning. He wasn't exactly there to keep me from getting to them this time."

"Hmm," Sweden grunts, frowning. Well, more than usual.

I shrink. "What? I'm not misusing them or anything..."

"You went to England," he mumbles slowly, "in the middle of all of this? You know how fast the plague's been spreading there, don't you?"

"Well, yeah." I take out the next book, putting it on top of the first one. "But none of us have gotten sick, right? Even the ones that have it really bad? My stomach's not hurting or anything, either."

Sweden sighs. "Don't go home for a while, then."

"But I'm not sick!"

"We don't know how this business spreads," Denmark puts in. "There's no reason to think you can't transmit it just because you don't feel like you have it. Not too many to transmit it to in your place before you're in trouble, either."

I stare at the book I just put down. "...Oh. _Oh_." Laughing weakly, I keep unloading the backpack. "I mean, I wasn't on the island, so maybe it can't affect me, anyway, right?"

"Not worth the risk," Sweden says, looking down at his book.

Denmark takes a sip of the mug on his chair arm. "In any case, you should probably consider yourself lucky England doesn't claim you. So! Enough of the depressing stuff." He wipes some foam off his lip. "Think you got a good lead, huh?"

I swallow and nod. "Uh-huh. I can't read any of it, but something useful has to be in these!"

"Nice." He leans over to take a book from my pile. Thumbing through a few pages, he whistles. "Old English, too. Fun stuff."

"May I see?" Norway sets his book down in the gap between him and Iceland.

"Yup!" I get the next book out and lean way forwards to hand it to him.

With a nod of thanks, he takes it. "Certainly that language isn't my specialty, but I've looked at spells with England enough to—"

"Norway!"

I look up just in time to see a bright blur dive-bomb into Norway's shoulder. After some scrambling and bouncing, Flying Mint Bunny prods at Norway's jaw to secure his attention.

Norway slowly puts the book back down. "Yes?"

"I-I-I went to the island, and..." The creature just pants for a second, jumping up and down. "And you really need to hurry, okay? They're not doing well, and-and can we try putting spells on things so I can carry them over? Please? I know it's more spells to find, but England's really not doing well, and..."

I stand up. "What do you mean?"

Sweden glances at me, then Norway, quirking an eyebrow before going back to his book.

Flying Mint Bunny looks at me but just shakes his head and turns back to Norway. "Please?"

Norway sighs, adjusting the book in his grip. "It's taking long enough to find the right spells for this part of the mission without looking for something irrelevant. I'm sorry, but we've already been through this—we have a lead, and we don't need to go off on unnecessary tangents." He flips open the cover. "If we can get to the nations this way soon enough, we won't have to worry about that, anyway."

"Okay, but..." Not quite jumping, Flying Mint Bunny just bounces on his feet. "...Okay. So, you can keep looking, and I'll just try to get Unicorn over there in the meantime?"

Norway doesn't look up from the first page of the book. "And how do you propose to do that? Fly him yourself?"

"I mean..." Flying Mint Bunny's feet shift about. "You have helicopters..."

"...That he'll pass straight through," Norway finishes, turning a page. "It's the same issue—there's not enough belief for you to get places easily anymore. Sorry." He gives Flying Mint Bunny a reconciliatory pat on the head. "You have every right to worry, but I promise we're headed in the right direction."

"Okay..."

Norway glances up at the dejected creature. "Here," he sighs. "You said you had a good look at the island, right? Let's call up Lithuania, and we can see how well the information adds up."

At that, he glances at me. "Would you mind calling him, since you'll be able to relay the information? I'll keep looking through these in the meantime."

"Okay!" I flop the last of the books onto the pile as Flying Mint Bunny ascends from Norway's shoulder.

"The nearest telephone should be down that hallway," Norway says, motioning over Belgium's head.

"Got it!" I watch Flying Mint Bunny circle over our heads for a second before I march off.

I've managed to cross some ground and step over a random sleeping cat before a particularly loud startled cry comes from my left. There's barely enough time to step back before Russia runs straight across the room, Belarus in pursuit.

"Hey!" Romania gets up, going after them. "Were you guys even invited to this?"

"I don't believe so," Norway comments during the next relative patch of silence, flipping another page.

Just in case, I look to the right, left, and right again before proceeding. No one runs me over, thankfully, and I hurry past where Belgium and Luxembourg study a book to find the hallway. It gets a little quieter once I'm out of the main room, and by the time I've found the telephone, I should be able to hear the nation on the other side of the phone line.

Taking the handset, I flop on the ground belly-first and look at the number keys. Flying Mint Bunny lands on my back with an "oomph"—from me.

"Hey, get off," I say, wriggling.

"Sorry." I don't feel the pressure on my back moving at all. "I'm just really tired from flying there and back..."

"Well, sleep on the carpet or something."

"I can't. This isn't Norway's normal nation-house. I'll just pass through."

I exhale, letting my lips flap. "Okay, then. You can stay there, I guess."

"Thank you!"

"Mmm-hmm."

Swinging my legs, I dial a number and listen to the phone ring.

"H-hello?"

"Hi, Latvia! Do you know Lithuania's phone number?"

A pause. "Sealand?"

"Yup!"

"All right." I hear him scratch the side of his head. "Um, yes, I know his number. Do you need it?"

"Yup!"

"All right."

I pull the phone away from my ear so Flying Mint Bunny can hear the number, too, and then I thank Latvia, tell him we should chat later, and hang up. The two of us here manage to put Lithuania's number back together, and then I call it.

"Hello?"

"Hi! This is Lithuania, right?" I twirl some of the phone cord round my finger.

"Ah, yes. Who's calling?"

"Sealand."

He falls silent for a minute.

"Lithuania?"

"Er—right! Sorry. I haven't, um, spoken to you in a while."

"Right, right."

Did he _forget _about me? Who am I, Canada?

"So, what is it, Sealand?"

"Right! Um..." Flying Mint Bunny taps on my back a bit, and I remember. "Flying Mint Bunny looked at all of the nations on the island, and Norway wanted me to see if it matches up with whatever you were doing."

"The things at the table, you mean?" he responds before pausing. "All right, but... who's 'Flying Mint Bunny'?"

"A magical friend."

"Ah, I see... That stuff." He sighs. "Well, no reason not to check it out, I guess. What have you got?"

"We..." I crane my neck backwards. "What _have_ we got?"

Flying Mint Bunny scoots up closer by my ear and starts telling me what he saw, nation by nation, and I pass it on to Lithuania.

Hearing about the Italies and Liechtenstein is kind of a relief to him since only Romano had been leaving any scraps behind for several days. Spain isn't much of a relief—thankfully Flying Mint Bunny spares the details, so all I have to say is he looked icky. Lithuania's excited enough about Poland to double-check if I really saw him doing okay, but he quiets down at Estonia acting weird.

"And then Jerk England..." I listen to Flying Mint Bunny and have to wait a second before continuing. "He's alive, but it looks like he... can't move?" I swallow.

"That's good to hear." Lithuania inhales. "Well, not good for him, maybe, but at least he's alive. I had no reason to assume that with what little I've had over here."

"Okay, well, yeah! He's alive! And, um, I think that's everybody, right?"

"Right," Lithuania and Flying Mint Bunny say at the same time.

"So, bye." I hang up, rolling onto my back as Flying Mint Bunny squeaks and flies onto my stomach.

"Sorry." I look at the ceiling. It has some sort of wallpaper, but it's too dark to see well. "He..." I sniff. "He's going to be okay, right?"

I cross my arms. "I mean, he's still a jerk, so..." I shuffle my knees. "But I can't take over him in my big empire if he's not around, you know?"

Flying Mint Bunny smiles, hopping up to nuzzle my chin. "He's really tough. I... I'm sure he'll be fine." He pulls back with a nod. "We just have to do the best we can in the meantime!"

"...Yeah!" I sit up, catching Flying Mint Bunny in my arms. "And we're going to do really well over here now that I've brought the books, right? And everybody _will_ be saved because of it!"

Flying Mint Bunny nods sleepily before burying his face in my elbow.

Shifting my arms, I wobble to my feet and run back towards the main room to see what else I can do.


	15. Won't You Please, Please Help Me

Author's Note: Well, I was planning to finish this yesterday, but I made the mistake of stumbling upon _Seven Pieces of Chalk_, at which point I was trapped for the rest of the evening and kept awake most of the night reeling over the awesomeness. Apologies. Read it yourself, and you'll understand. And review, because it's not fair that _The Rules_ has hundreds more reviews than that fiction.

Not that you should neglect to review my chapter here, of course.

* * *

_? ? ? ?_

I really wish I had some idea as to what has been happening. There's really not much to go off. I've just been lying here in the trees—I'm not sure why I say that. I don't know what particular trees these are. In any case, they're not familiar.

That, of course, doesn't mean much. It's difficult for one to say if something's familiar when one has no recollection of... anything. Although that's an exaggeration. I certainly realise those are trees, above is the sky, with clouds made of water vapor and dust, and so forth. That sort of memory hasn't gotten me particularly far in deducing anything about my situation, though. I am most likely not in a home or on a boat. That's the best I can do.

I've tried to take a better look about the place, but that doesn't yield much when all I can move is my head. Even after all this time—however much time that is—goodness, I've entirely lost track of the days by now—I can't do any better than that. All I manage to see is more trees—not helpful, unsurprisingly enough—and that I seem to be wearing a very ragged suit. That doesn't say much, either. Perhaps I was at some formal event, got hopelessly drunk, staggered out here, and didn't have any loved ones to start a search party. I really hope that's not the case.

At any rate, that doesn't explain the paralysis. My limbs don't seem to be in especially good shape, so I may have some sort of progressive atrophic condition, but that doesn't seem quite right. Not that I would remember, of course, but...

Oh, in the end, I really can't say. Something's terribly wrong with my physical and mental being. Shame there's nothing I can do about it.

It's certainly not getting any better, either. I'd probably already be dead if it hadn't rained directly on me a few times. Unfortunately it has not been raining manna and quail as well, so that hasn't been healing to my withering body. Nor my mind. I have to wonder sometimes just how long I spend completely zoned out before realising it. I never have any idea when I get started on that, though, so even if I glance at the lengths of shadows afterwards, I have no way to tell. Hopefully it's not long enough I would be able to notice a difference.

Actually, I'm not sure why I say that. As far as I can tell, it's rather nice not to be thinking of anything. Quite the alternative to driving myself mad over who I am, what I'm doing here, and how terrible in general I feel. I'm so starved I can't even feel that I need to eat, and, regardless of the rain, my skin and lips are so dry it's a wonder I don't spontaneously tear to shreds. While I'm not in the same half-tormenting, half-numbing position, I'm clearly not lying on a surface designed for such use.

Ah, yes, about that. Being moved from how I lay since I first remember waking. I have no explanation. I've already had a few odd hallucinations, short-lived ones, so perhaps it was just one of those again, and I have always been lying in this position. Somehow that doesn't seem right. While I can't recall much of anything, I am positive that I was once in this same location, with arms and legs in uncomfortable disarray. If what memory I possess is trustworthy, I have no reason to doubt I could not have moved myself. Someone could have moved me while I was unfocused or unconscious, but I should hope he'd have the decency to get me help instead of leaving me to die with some extra sliver of comfort. And so it seems the most logical solution is that whatever I thought happened did really happen.

So... Some flying, mint-green rabbit prodded me repeatedly, spouted off gibberish, flew about, adjusted my limbs, and left. And that's my most logical option.

You know, maybe someone really did come and rearrange me without getting help. I don't think I'm mad enough to go deep into wilderness with nothing but a suit that probably used to be nice, so I can't imagine it could be that hard to locate me. If anyone was trying. Yet I've been missing this long, in a life-threatening situation, and no one has come for me. The "no loved ones to start a search party" bit comes to mind again. Perhaps I've come to thoroughly exasperate everyone who cared about me that the only one who ended up finding me tauntingly made me more comfortable before leaving me to die. Once again, I really hope that's not the case. I'd like to think I'm slightly more pleasant than that.

* * *

My head pounds, and my rasping breaths grate against my ears. A few moments pass before I open my eyes.

And so it seems I lost consciousness at random again. Ah, well. It doesn't seem to be hurting anything.

I idly look at the shadows, but they seem to stop at nearly the same places. I either haven't been out for long, or a whole day has passed. Given I have no idea why I keep losing consciousness, I can't really say which is more likely. It hardly matters. It doesn't seem I'm missing anything important. I have all the time in the world.

Until I starve to death, at least.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly the second a chill goes down my back. It certainly won't do any good if I panic. I can't pull myself out of here no matter the adrenaline rush. Shouting harder for help won't achieve anything, either. I'll just stay calm until...

Until what? I die. That's the only other feasible thing that is going to happen to me. No one has come in the last week or so, and there's no reason to think that's going to change. I am just going to stay here and die.

Well, that's not very pleasant. I don't even know who I am—how am I supposed to say if I'm going anywhere decent? Hopefully I just don't go anywhere. Just die and that's the end of everything and I don't want to die, oh _no_, I don't want to die—

May I go ahead and pass out again now? I'm not sure whom I'm asking, but obviously I'm not the one in control of myself at the moment, and I would really like to go ahead and lose consciousness and sort of forget about dying for a little while longer. Of course, I may not wake up, so honestly that's not very comforting, and how on earth is my heart pounding this hard, _stop_ that—!

No, forget it—just pass out now. I should hope I'm sharp enough to have realised my impending death before, so if I suddenly lose consciousness and stay that way long enough to forget, I can go back to... to... doing nothing, but in a way that doesn't make me feel like I'm going to die just because I'm thinking about dying.

Rather than having everything go black, I instead see a dab of black in the sky. Not another fly... Come to signal my doom, perhaps. How thoughtful.

I squint, and while it really doesn't help me see any more detail, the black object looms closer. It's certainly not a fly, and it's actually quite distant. What... What is it? The-the Grim Reaper or something?

And then I hear the pulsing whoosh. It's a helicopter. Maybe that's just how the Hand of Death gets around these days... Curious...

Oh, please don't be here for me, I don't want to die and—

What on earth am I saying? That doesn't even make any sense. Calm down a minute. Someone else could be in that helicopter. Maybe they'll find me? Maybe they weren't looking for me, but they'll succeed, anyway? Please...

Knowing they couldn't possibly hear my weak yell from up there, I watch the helicopter pleadingly. It continues to loom larger, but it's moving farther away laterally. No, no, no. Come back over here. You get over here _right now_. I'm not sure that there's really any good reason for you to do so, and I certainly can't threaten you otherwise, but... please?

I sound so pathetic. But that I am, so no use trying to sound like something else, I suppose.

The helicopter goes far enough to the side it disappears behind the trees. Well, there went that chance—if indeed it was a chance. It could have just been another hallucination, although it was admittedly more sensible than some of the other things I've seen.

Then again, I haven't seen anything else fly over me, aside from some insects. No birds, no planes. Wherever I am, there's certainly something odd about it. Even if it's completely off the beaten path, surely something would have come? Or maybe something has, but I passed out and forgot about it. That would make sense, though the perfect timing would be something peculiar, especially if more than one has come along.

* * *

It appears to be almost noon when I come to again. The bizarre thing is that the word "lunchtime" immediately pops into my head. If only, if only.

I move my head a bit in an attempt to get the crick out of my neck. It's partially successful.

Then I lie here. Not many other options.

I'm about to doze off when I hear voices. Arguing, maybe. I can't make out words. It seems to be getting louder, though.

Wait... Is that coming from... people, then? All right, that sounds like an idiotic question, but—if this isn't another hallucination, people seem to be coming towards me. I can't say why or who, but people who are able to argue and move are most likely also able to get me out of here.

Pulse rising, I take a deep breath to yell. But it's no good. The entirety of my vocal tract is so dry I barely manage a weak sort of hiss.

Lovely. People are close enough I should probably be able to see them, but I can't get their attention. They'll probably just keep walking, never knowing I'm here, and leave me to my fate—

I try to yell again, but it doesn't work any better than the first time. Spewing all sorts of profanities that make no sound, I try to swallow a few times and shout again. No such luck.

By then my breaths are so frantic I can't very well control enough air to call for help. Not that it matters. I can't, anyway. I'll just stay right here and die—how close is it if I don't even have enough moisture to speak? Why is my heart pounding so hard? I'm about to die right now, aren't I? Right now!

C-calm down, you idiot... If it's your heart rate and hyperventilation worrying you, panicking is h-hardly going to help... Stop it...

A crash sends branches flying to either side of me, and I'm thankful I can't scream at the moment.

It's a person. I have no idea who, but it's a person, and he's seen me. Thank God—is that an IV he's carrying? Oh, God, I don't even think I usually believe in you, but thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you...

I'm also glad I don't have enough moisture to cry, because I honestly might be sobbing otherwise. How did I ever end up in such a pathetic state?

The man whoops in victory the second he glances at me, but after another moment he falters, grin turning into an unhappy gaping jaw.

Oh, please tell me he's not someone who hates me. He doesn't look very happy now that he's come to recognise me...

But why else would he be storming through here with an IV I need? Or can I even say that when I don't know what "here" is?

Closing his mouth for a second, he steps closer, stammering something. The sounds of his words are distinct, but I can't make them out. Possibly he's speaking something other than English, but somehow I haven't the faintest idea what else it could be.

He stares at me for another second, possibly expecting a response, but I just watch him still gasping for breath a bit too loud. Mouth tilted, he bridges the last gap between us, kneels down, and starts investigating my right arm. Since there seems to be little else remaining in there, it's not difficult to locate a throbbing vein. After a prick and a dull pinch, I watch him draw a little blood before letting the IV drip. I'm not entirely sure what it is—the label's gibberish like everything else—but it has to help.

I try to slow down my breathing, but there's little I can do. Instead I occupy myself watching the IV tube, which really isn't very entertaining, but it's more than comforting enough to make up for it.

The man says something else, drawing my attention. He looks at me expectantly, but I just frown. He doesn't stop.

I try to tell him I have no idea what he's saying, but I still have no success voicing the words I'm mouthing. I do, however, manage to produce a cough dry enough to give silica gel a run for its money.

The man sits with his mouth open before shrugging to look up at the sky. He asks something, but I'm not sure that it's directed at me, anyway.

* * *

Oh, look, I passed out again. Ugh, why is the side of my neck so sore all of a sudden...?

I open my eyes and, after a good deal of disorientation, manage to figure out I'm inside something. That helicopter? Good, I'm being taken somewhere. If it's not where I've been stranded, I am perfectly okay with any destination.

A loud shout slams into my poor eardrums, and I cringe and look about until I see the same man from waves, saying something else.

As I now seem to be in possession of a tongue rather than a dense clump of cotton, I clear my throat and tell him, "Listen, I don't understand what you're saying."

Or, that's what I try to tell him. I manage to say _something_, but the words don't make sense—if they are indeed actual words. What on earth...?

I have the urge to rub my throat, but I still can't move my arms.

The man blinks, laughs, and makes a comment.

"I tell you I can't understand your words, so you throw more at me. A sign of your brilliance, I'm sure," I mutter, mostly to myself since the thought doesn't leave my mouth comprehensibly.

Regardless, the man stops laughing and sticks his tongue out at me.

I frown. That almost seemed like a fitting response to what I tried to say.

"Can... you understand me?" I try.

He says something, pauses, and then nods, tilting his head to the side a bit.

"Because I can't," I mumble, shifting to look back at the ceiling as the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

What is going on with me...?


	16. Right Here Waiting

Author's Note: Well, I was sure I'd be able to update like crazy for Spring Break. Then my parents announced we would be hitting all of our favorite outlet malls in [state name which is not mine but is nevertheless censored]. Yeah... I... at least got some new shoes?

But I finally managed to get enough computer time to finish this! So, review, if your loved ones haven't dragged you somewhere too busy for the week?

* * *

_Switzerland_

"...and we have plenty of extra IVs," I mutter to myself. Putting them back in their place, I do one last sweep of the medical equipment and take my seat. I'm the only one in the back—in this helicopter, there's not enough room for four nations plus a hospital set-up. We're only planning to carry away one of the stranded nations in this vehicle. Guess who I'd prefer it to be.

We'd better finally get to her today. It's been three days since we started searching the books for this last spell—and I don't even want to think about how long it's been since I've seen her. Apparently some sort of magical method has shown she's still alive, at least.

I vaguely wonder how that worked. How any of this works. Magic honestly doesn't make sense to me.

* * *

_"So let me get this straight," I start, setting down a book in front of Romania. "There's one last spell we need to break before we have any hope of getting to the nations stranded."_

_He slides the tome towards him, opening to the page I marked. "That's how it seems."_

_"But we have landed on the same island they are on right now."_

_With a nod, he glances at the spell I thought sounded promising. "Same place."_

_I exhale. "So, if it's the same island, why can't we drop off some survival supplies to keep the others going while we're trying to get to them?"_

_"Oh, no, that wouldn't work at all." He meets my gaze. "We and the trapped nations are approaching the same island from different directions."_

_"But it's still the same island."_

_"Well, yeah, or we wouldn't be trying to get closer."_

_"But we've already _landed_ on it."_

_Romania waves a hand. "At some risk, though. Just America frolicking in the sand could have messed things up, if he ran into a space occupied by a nation on the other side."_

_"That's nice," I say, "but if we already know about where all of the nations are, what's the risk in dropping off some supplies?"_

_He shrugs. "Even if they were in good enough shape, they wouldn't be able to get to them. Just like they haven't sent any signs of seeing us when we've been hovering over the place for hours."_

_I tap my fingers. "But it's the _same island_. How can someone on the island not reach something else on the island right in front of her?"_

_"It just doesn't work that way."_

_I slam my hands on his armrests. "That doesn't make any sense!"_

_He just gives me a stupid, wide grin and says, "Welcome to magic, buddy!" _

* * *

Apparently "magic" just means "nonsense." We can't send supplies, we can't announce our presence, we can't even carve a message into tree bark, and all because "it just doesn't work that way." Not that I haven't tried the latter two regardless, but I still hate all of this. I have no idea what's going on with this, and I have to trust some other nation to take care of it because it's really my only choice. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

All I can say is that Romania has at least been doing something, so maybe just this once passing the reins won't screw me up. I don't know. I just want all of this to be over already. I just want to be back in my house, with Liechtenstein, handling the Bomb Plague and whatever happens next by ourselves.

But... until then... The backseat it is. Ugh.

Clunking and shuffling signals the arrival of the other two in this helicopter. I strap myself in.

"Hang on—you actually want me to pilot, aru?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble. I know I was assigned pilot for this helicopter, but, with my heart as it is, I'm not sure it would be the best idea. If you'd rather not, though—"

"Frick, Japan, if you don't want to pilot it, tell him you don't want to pilot it." I put my feet up. "The last thing we need is for us to suddenly go crashing into the place. We have enough nations to patch up already."

Flushing a bit, Japan nods and straps himself into the other passenger seat.

"It's no trouble," China says, adjusting his seat. He looks at Japan sideways. "I'm just surprised you're actually asking me to drive something, aru."

With a little shudder, Japan shrinks in his seat. I can only imagine what kind of car ride could have led to this. Hopefully maneuvering a helicopter is so different it doesn't matter.

I consider volunteering to pilot the thing myself, but I'm not about to stay in the air when I could be on the ground saving Liechtenstein. Instead I remain silent as China starts up the helicopter and gets us off the ground. It's a little too bumpy at first, but thankfully the ride is less worrying once we're headed straight ahead.

Not much happens on the way there. I ended up in a reasonable helicopter this time, it seems. A lot better than sitting next to Korea.

Then we pull over the island. China puts us into a hover, and Japan confers with the other helicopters via headset.

"Romania would like to warn us," he starts, glancing at China and me, "that closing the gap between us and the stranded nations may affect whatever spell is responsible for The Rules." He pauses, listening. "All of us seem to be outside the radius of the original barrier spell, so if The Rules' spell is confined to the same area, we'll be safe. Otherwise... there's little we could do about it."

"Otherwise," I repeat. "Does that mean we could all end up under that spell again?"

He nods. "That's my impression of it. It could even go beyond us twenty... But it's impossible to predict." He exhales, looking out the side window. "I suppose at that point we would have enough time to go through other spells to fix any further problems. That's only my opinion, though; it seems Romania has gone on to start the first spell now."

I lean back with an exhale. "All right."

Dully, I watch the island out the window not knowing what I'm looking for. Some sort of change. Maybe the appearance of a nation on the sand somewhere. I know I won't be able to see Liechtenstein from here.

After a few minutes, nothing has happened.

"Japan." I turn towards him. "Any news from their front?"

He switches his headset, listens, and switches it back. "I'm not getting any comments. It did sound like Romania has gone onto another spell."

"Hm." I exhale, looking back out the window.

We ought to have the right spell by now. I don't know how many we ended up finding at the searching party, but one of them had better do it already. I'm sick of waiting.

Tapping a finger on the thin sill, I continue staring out the window. Something happen, come on. I barely care what, just _happen_.

Still nothing. Frick. Let me read some of the Latin stuff, and maybe that will work.

The helicopter jumps, and suddenly we're rocking all over the place. Japan braces himself, while China yelps and starts pulling hard at the controls. I make sure the hospital bed doesn't fall over as China finally regains control, pulling us higher before putting us back into a hover.

"What was that?" I start, frowning at China. And here I had come to think that he's not such a bad pilot after all...

"I don't know, aru." He ducks a bit to check on the other helicopters, though they're stable. "Japan, can you check to see if anyone else felt that?"

Japan nods, opening his mouth, but once he switches his headset over, he falls silent. He listens long enough for me to start fidgeting.

"Yes," he starts, looking back at me. "The others had some turbulence as well, at the same time. Some type of shock wave seems to have occurred after Romania finished the last spell—and it seems he also lost consciousness."

"This better have worked, then," I say, sitting up. I take a good look at what shore we can see from this distance. Nothing, at this angle. Maybe there's someone behind the edge of those trees—but it's hard to say. I wasn't exactly able to keep a steady watch on the place to tell if anything changed.

"I'm going to take us around a bit, aru," China says, starting us in an arc after a minute of rocking. I keep an eye on that leg-like shadow from before.

"Ah!" Japan grabs his headset like it was trying to leap off him. "Do you rea—Um, no, America, if you could..."

He trails off about the time a figure drops out of one of the other helicopters. With a silent moan, Japan switches the headset back.

"America and seems to have sighted someone in the trees," he says before rubbing his forehead. "He immediately grabbed some equipment and jumped out to check."

I peer harder at the island. "And you wanted him not to?"

He sighs. "When we're not sure what spells still bind the island, it's certainly dangerous. I had come to hope I could be the one to try landing first—if The Rules are still active for us, I'd be able to escape with the least collateral damage, I think. At least, if our immortality is still intact..."

"Hm." I watch America disappear into the foliage. "Well, you should have said so sooner."

"I tried..."

"...And got cut off twenty minutes before getting to what you were actually trying to say," I finish. "Wouldn't be the first time."

He doesn't reply.

"So," China starts, "does America at least still have his headset?"

Japan nods in acknowledgement, switching his headset over. "Is America still—" He cuts off, cringing, before glancing at us and mouthing a "yes." He just listens for a moment before asking for one moment and switching the headset back.

Voice clearer in my ears now, he says, "Yes, he has his headset. He..." He takes a deep breath as if trying to calm himself down. "He also thinks he's found England—in terrible shape, though."

I sit up. "So we can definitely get to the others now, then?" My hands hover over the seatbelt buckles.

Japan glances back at me. "It seems that way—but we can't be sure just how safely. America didn't exactly wait to see what the magic-users had to say about this."

I look back at the island. "Well... Ugh, fine!" I sit back, crossing my arms. "Just tell me when I can get down there, all right?"

He nods as I shift again and get out one of the IVs.

"Yes?" Japan winces, pulling the headpiece away from his ears a bit. "All right, please calm down. Please... Okay. Does he still have a pulse? ...Okay. Well, I'm not sure what happened, but he seems all right for the time being." After some time of listening and glancing at some of the other helicopters, he says, "Hang on, then. If we don't want to risk putting others on the island yet, we can't touch down to transport him elsewhere... I, um, suppose you could easily catch one, but all of these helicopters are occupied. Please, just hold on for a minute..."

I thump on the back of Japan's seat. "What's going on?"

He continues to watch the island. "England's going to need more than an IV, but America hasn't left himself a good way to get off the island. He suggested we crowd a helicopter so we can drop an empty one, but I doubt that would work out well."

I unbuckle myself. "You know what—tell the others the two of you can board elsewhere. I'll land this thing, and then we can try to get some nations out of here."

Japan hesitates, but he can only stand a minute of my glare before switching channels.

"I hope this works out all right, aru," China says, almost to himself. He glances at my reflection. "Your nation was France, right?"

"Yup. Sucks for him if we can't break The Rules that easily."

Tapping my foot, I listen to Japan relay my demands, and another helicopter—the one that dumped America, I think—eventually comes up to ours. After a quick debate, I swap headsets with Japan, kick the two of them out, and take the controls. The helicopter that took them in is still below, so I go up and over until I find a decent landing spot. I drop carefully, killing the engine once I'm steady enough on the ground.

Cutting through the others' chatter on the line, I inform America the helicopter has landed on the north side of the island.

"And don't you dare take off without me," I finish. Just in case, I still grab some extra supplies before getting out.

The sun's beating down today. There are still puddles all over the place from yesterday's rain, but that's hardly going to keep me from finding that note. It should be west of here, so...

I glance behind me—America isn't in sight yet—and head off.

* * *

I actually didn't land far from that dumb note. Only took about ten minutes of walking to find it. It hasn't changed much. A bit more yellow. Same stupid words as ever.

Taking a second to think, I look at the trees and decide we must have gone this way. Branches snap and muddy pools splash as I march through, turning at all of the obvious spots and going straight otherwise. Shouldn't be much farther now. Wish there were still some intact footprints to make this easier, though.

Then I hit it. It's not the first tree big enough to keep others from growing beside it, but it's the first with a loose, human-sized nest in a lower set of branches.

Clutching the equipment to my chest with one arm, I grab a branch and struggle to pull myself up.

"Liechten?" I manage to scramble onto the low nest. It's empty.

No one replies, but I shift my cargo and climb up to the other nest. Curled up, eyes just opening, is Liechtenstein. She definitely hasn't had much to eat for some time, but she's coherent enough to lock her eyes on me.

With a shuddering sigh, I turn off my buzzing headset and scoot over beside her, loosening my grip on the IV.

"Liechten?" I repeat, more quietly than I expected. "Are you hurt at all?"

She shakes her head, shifting her shoulders a bit.

"Okay. I'm going to sit you up."

She nods, and I reach over, slipping my arm under her shoulders and lifting her like she'll shatter if I go too quickly. For all I know she just might. She cooperates as well as she can, and I manage to sit her up against my side. Trying not to fumble the thing, I get the IV needle ready and rub a swab of disinfectant on her arm.

"This is going to pinch a little bit, all right? Tell me if it hurts any more than that."

"Okay," she says quietly enough I could be imagining it.

With a nod, I hold her arm steady and slide in the IV. She only tenses the slightest bit, so I make sure I'm in the vein, start the drip, and duct tape the needle to her arm.

Rubbing her shoulder, I push away the spare IV and get the bottle of ORS. "Can you drink?"

"Mmm-hmm."

I take off the top and hand it to her. Unwrapping her free arm from my elbow, she takes the bottle delicately and tilts it to her mouth. After a second, she pulls it away, spluttering.

"Not too much at once, okay?" I rub her back until she stops coughing. She nods, sipping a bit more carefully.

Taking a deep breath, I double-check the IV—still dripping fine—and see if the other bag is still intact. Everything's fine. I can still see the helicopters overhead through the trees, and, as far as I can tell, America hasn't made off with mine yet. Liechtenstein is by no means healthy and well-fed, but she's still alive.

I hug her to my side with one arm. "You're going to be okay now."

She looks up at me, smiling. "I know."


	17. Something Going Wrong Around Here

Author's Note: Saw an awesome eighties music show tonight. Had to stay up late to finish this. Because the music may have made me happy, but reviews are even better (and less expensive. Probably).

* * *

_Japan_

Crammed into the backseat with two other nations and a stationary gurney, all I can do is watch as Switzerland goes down to the island as well.

I have a terrible feeling about this. It's excellent that we've finally found the others, but we seem to be rushing into this more than we should. The stranded nations' situation is very urgent, but I doubt a few minutes of assessing the situation would be harmful. I'm sure Germany would agree, although he's been so silent in all of this lately he may not be certain of much of anything.

Below, Switzerland lands the helicopter and exits. America hasn't yet emerged from the trees to board it himself. Even if we're rushing things, we've yet to see if any of the magic-users' warnings are true. It's nerve-wracking, to say the least.

"Um," I finally start, shifting in my seat just enough to avoid jostling China, "do you think it would be a good idea if I were to quickly check if we'll be able to leave the island?"

China frowns. "It's a little late for that, though, isn't it, aru? I don't know what good it would do to get another of us stuck there."

"On the other hand," Hungary puts in, slowly guiding us closer to the island, "we don't know when the others are going to head out, and we might as well get started looking for the next spell if we need to. At the same time, Japan could see if all of The Rules are still active without involving anyone else." She shoots me a smile. "Only if you're sure about that, though. I imagine it would still be pretty risky."

I nod. "What do the rest of us think? Austria?"

He interlaces his fingers. "Such a venture may be helpful to those who have already acted so recklessly," he sniffs.

"Germany?" I try, leaning forward a bit to see past China.

Germany just continues to stare out the window. "Don't ask me," he mutters. "I am not the authority on anything concerning... magic." He makes a face like the last word tastes rancid.

"Oh, quit sulking, aru."

"I'm not sulking," Germany sighs, turning to look at the back of the pilot's head.

"Well..." Hungary looks out to the landed helicopter. America hasn't made it there yet. "Let's go ahead and try this, then."

Staying well above the sand, she comes up over the island, relaying to the other helicopters what we're doing. Apparently there aren't any objections, because she glances behind her and asks for someone to let down the ladder.

"Yes, ma'am." Germany squeezes out of the backseat to comply.

"We're just going to try letting you down and pulling you through the top," Hungary says. "Norway's completely sure the barrier has had to be spherical, so we might as well do this the easy way. Less chance of you trying to drown on us, too."

I dip my head. "That sounds like a good plan to me."

China turns to look at me. "What about your heart, though? You could be seriously injured if you drop from this height, aru."

"I'll secure myself well." I lean towards Hungary. "Will I need to climb down far?"

"No," Hungary says, checking the altitude. "Just get a decent distance below the skids, and I can duck this down and up for you."

"All right."

Once we're at a good position, I get the thumbs-up and carefully start to climb down. Winds buffet from all sides. Thankfully it's not difficult to keep a good grip on this ladder.

I get to a few rungs from the free end before securing myself to the ladder. The helicopter starts to dip, and, while I can't sense any change, I must end up below the barrier position. Hungary starts to bring me up, although very slowly. If I'm barred from passing through a second time, I imagine I'll be able to feel that. Hopefully if I start to be pushed off here, they'll stop trying to pull me up.

Is that all that would happen, though? Would I even feel something pressing on me, or would I suddenly drop off the ladder without warning? At the barrier in the water, America was apparently sort of sucked under the water, but what happens in the air?

Holding my breath, I just lock my eyes on the helicopter as we slowly rise. My back starts to feel the slightest bit cold—

But I continue to rise, and nothing seems to stop me. After a while, the helicopter slips into a plain hover, and Hungary comes on over my headset.

"We're pretty much out of it now. Are you still feeling all right?"

"Yes. Are you sure you put me over where the barrier should be?"

"Definitely. You can go ahead and climb back in now."

"All right."

Just before I climb the last rung, I see a tiny pair of figures below nearing the grounded helicopter. America's finally made it over, it seems. At least he'll be able to get out safely.

Germany helps me to get back into the helicopter as Hungary talks with some of the other pilots.

"...All right. Are you sure? ...No, I don't see any reason not to." She glances back to make sure I'm in. "Yeah. Are all of them ready? ...And Norway doesn't see any way it could come back to bite us, right? ...Okay, then!"

She switches her headset at the same time she starts lowering the helicopter. "Looks like we're going in, everyone! At least, all of us but... _his_ helicopter, since no one in there was on the island in the first place." Having to straighten herself up after even a sideways mention of Romania, she keeps an eye on the other helicopters as we continue to go down.

It honestly still makes me a bit nervous, but if Norway had no objections... And there didn't seem to be anything stopping me from leaving, so... it should be all right.

We're... finally going to rescue them. After this long—day forty-three—we're finally getting every last one of us off the island.

With some bumps, we manage to land on a patch of sand.

Pulling off her headset, Hungary looks sideways at Austria with a smile. "You just make sure the helicopter doesn't go anywhere. We'll go do the dirty work."

He gives her a knowing glance and nods as Germany jumps out of the helicopter. Next to leave is Hungary, and then I follow China onto the sand. We gather a first round of IVs and step back, watching the other helicopters landing nearby.

"Well, this helicopter has room for one," Hungary starts as she leads us across the beach. "So, whoever we find first gets it. I'll keep up with the rest of the guys if we run into anyone else before they do."

With a nod, I do my best to keep pace with Germany as we go on along the shore. We don't exchange any words. There's little left to say, anyway. We just have to find someone already.

We've only been hurrying ahead a few minutes when Germany suddenly bolts ahead.

"Ger—"

"Italy!' he roars, cutting me off.

I exchange a startled glance with China before running after him. What comes into view stops me so suddenly I nearly fall onto the sand.

Italy and Romano sit huddled against a larger tree trunk—larger than necessary, with the way both of them have shrunk. Shadows that only belong on a skull, angles of skeleton that look ready to burst through the skin—and a few that have, in the case of Italy's hands. Their hair in such disarray I can't distinguish their cowlicks, they watch us with wide but sunken eyes, not yet piecing together what's happening. The tang of acetone pierces the air as we stumble closer.

Italy stares, expression shifting a bit, but his hands don't move from his chest, where he holds a knife point barely between his ribs.

"Italy—" Germany repeats, hurrying to close the gap between them—"put that down!"

Seeming confused, Italy looks at the knife at his chest before quickly snapping his gaze back up. "H-help Romano first!" he croaks before repeating himself frantically, gesturing towards his brother with a waving elbow.

Germany, finally stepping up to the two, hesitates. He certainly has no more idea of what's happening right now than I do. Finally, after a moment more of Italy's pleading, he sits by Romano and searches for a vein without seeming to know what exactly he's doing.

As Italy keeps his eyes locked on his brother, I sit down next to him and gently put a hand over his fingers.

"Italy," I start quietly, slowly pulling his hands away from his chest, "Romano is going to be okay. Can you please let go of this now?"

After some hesitation, he turns his head to look at the blood-tarnished knife in his hands. I repeat my request, and he finally nods, shifting his fingers. He hasn't yet let go when he stops, squeezing his eyes shut with a whimper.

It's not difficult to guess why. The skin on his fingers clings to bones that aren't all in the right place. Some twig-and-cloth splints have been tied to his hands, but some are broken, and some have been shifted undesirably by how hard he's been clenching his fingers around the knife. There's very little blood, but it's still a mess. China, behind me, eyes the damage he's done with a grimace.

I exhale. "I'm sorry if this hurts," I say, starting to pull his fingers away one by one. Italy makes a few pained noises—eliciting worried glances from Germany—but he doesn't fight back, and soon the knife is in my hands instead.

Italy stares at the metal before snapping his gaze up at my face. "Throw it away, okay? Wh-where Romano can't get it?" At that, he looks at his brother again.

"All right. China?" I pass the blade back to him, and Italy watches with desperate eyes until he flings the knife some distance into the water.

By the time Italy relaxes, I've cleaned off a spot of his arm. At that he tenses up, but that hardly stops me from inserting the needle. He's a bit more comfortable when I throw a cloth over the site and start the IV dripping.

"Italy?" Germany finally starts after handing some rehydration solution to Romano, who just looks at it. "Are you okay? What... What even..." He takes a deep breath. "Relay to me the incidents that led to this situation. You have four minutes—go."

Italy shakes his head. "I-I'm just glad you're here," he gets out, voice breaking like he's about to cry. I'm almost surprised he's not before I remember how dehydrated he must be.

As Germany tries to figure out how to respond, I ready a bottle of ORS and start to give it to Italy. But his hands certainly haven't gotten any better, and I doubt he could take and drink effectively or painlessly. Instead I take off the lid and ask him if he's ready for a drink. He nods, opening his mouth like an expectant baby bird, and I carefully pour some in. He splutters a bit but quickly parts his lips for more.

I certainly don't like that he's in such sad condition, but... it's kind of nice to repay a favor.

"Hey, drink some of that," Germany mutters to Romano, nudging his wrist. Romano swears at him halfheartedly before begrudgingly taking a sip.

"Really, though," Germany starts, looking back at Italy with clear aversion for his condition. "I know you're not really 'okay,' but... how are you... emotionally?" He passes a hand through his hair, slicking back the few strands that dared to slip free.

Italy swallows another swig. "I don't know," he says, glancing at Romano before looking at Germany. "I'm just glad you're finally here."

Germany sighs. "Me, too."

We fall silent after that. I continue to let Italy drink, while Hungary slips past us, covering her mouth as she looks at the ground. I already know it's what's left of Spain. I'm not sure what we're going to do about it. Bring back all we can and hope the immortality drain ends at the barrier.

"Who's going to be in which helicopter, then?" China starts, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

"I don't know." Hungary steps back towards us. "I think there was one with two hospital beds, if you'd rather be in the same helicopter."

Italy meets her gaze with puppy dog eyes. "I would really like that."

"Okay." Hungary clears her throat as she slides her headset back over her ears. "Where's the two-bed helicopter? We found the Italies, and they want to stay together."

After a bit of rearranging, we figure out who's going into which helicopter, nations healthy and unhealthy. Hungary hurries off to bring the bigger helicopter to us, while China starts for the one with enough room for him. I'll end up in the helicopter with America and England, while Germany's going to stay with Hungary and the Italies.

I'd really rather not leave Italy, but Romano's not really occupying the whole of Germany's attention. Italy should be perfectly fine in Germany's care for a little while.

I hand the bottle of ORS to Germany, say some brief goodbyes, and head off for my new helicopter. Or, I suppose it's really the one I was in to begin with. I'm almost scared to see how England looks, but the faster I get over there, the better it will be for him.

Some of the hot sand gets into my shoes, and I'm a bit too old to be doing this much running in one day, but I still make it to America's helicopter. France has already made it into the front seat, so I end up in the back, next to where England lies.

He certainly doesn't look any better than the Italies did. If anything, his limbs are even farther gone. A bare dust of scraggly whiskers covers his jawline, and gaps of eyebrow have fallen out. The end result is something that honestly doesn't look entirely like England.

He squints at me as I strap myself in. "Am I supposed to know you, too?"

I frown. "Well—"

"No, no, don't speak." He looks at the ceiling with a scowl. "Apparently the word hasn't gotten that I'm not understating words at the moment. Just nod or something. I guess I'll the question ask again—am I supposed to know you?"

Taking a deep breath, I nod.

"That's unfortunate." He sighs. "Wish I could let you reintroduce yourself, but that wouldn't exactly. Sort of wish I could reintroduce _my_self, but that doesn't seem to be a miscibility, either. Alack."

I chew the inside of my cheek, turning to America as he starts up the engine. "Do we have any idea what's happened to him?"

America smacks his lips. "Nope. He won't stop rambling about not understanding things, though."

My stomach lurches as the craft enters the air. With an exhale, I turn to England with one last try:

"イギリスさん、日本語が分かれますか?"

He just stares at me. "Why are we trying more words? I thought that now by it should be obvious I'm not getting it."

France glances back at me. "He didn't understand any French, either."

"Ah." I turn to look out the window.

This is just becoming all the more troubling... But we'll be out of the barrier soon. Maybe he'll start to heal then? I can only hope...

We continue to rise, and after a minute America announces we're almost past the barrier. I glance at England, but he hasn't shown any signs of change.

After a bit more distance, I hear shuffling. Immediately I look back at England. He's sliding across the bench a bit, but sideways—if he continues, he'll run into the back wall of the helicopter without falling off. I carefully look at his limbs to see if he's managing to move himself, but it's hard to tell. At any rate he slides until he hits the wall, his elastic restraints straining.

Then he tries to keep going. Breath hitching in his throat, he slides up the wall before finally stopping. But from the look in his eyes I don't think the force moving him has retreated. Pressed firmly against the wall, he looks around confused, limbs pressing flatter and flatter against the metal. I think I hear something in him crack.

And then I think I understand. It's the barrier. I may be free, the rest of us who already escaped may be free, but he isn't.

"America," France starts, reaching over to grab the pilot's arm. "Turn back—right now."

"What?"

England has now started gasping loudly.

"The barrier's flattening him!" France snaps. "Turn back!"

With a bewildered glance behind him, America finally backs us up. England falls back to the bed, still struggling for breath but managing to curse us out without messing up a single word.

"You okay back there?" America calls. England understandably doesn't reply.

"So the barrier's still affecting him," America thinks out loud, looking at the sky as if he'll suddenly be able to see the edge of the magic wall. "Well... We can't just leave him here." He snaps. "Okay! We'll just charge into the thing full-speed! That oughtta break through, right?" Without waiting for our response, he backs us up further.

"America," I start, glancing at England. He's still breathing in quick, shallow gasps, not yet recovered. "I don't think that's going to work."

"Like I said," he responds, voice tight, "we can't just leave him here! This is our only chance, so let's—!"

France grimaces. "And if it doesn't work, he'll be completely crushed against the wall!"

"But if it does work, he'll be safe!" America responds, actually starting to go forward. "And the hero will have saved him, just like I'm supposed to!"

I can feel the helicopter speeding up. "America..."

He's not listening, nor is he listening to France. Finally I unstrap my restraints and lunge into the front of the helicopter.

"America, _stop_!" I know I can't pull his arm away, so I just crank a random control stick to the side. The vehicle pitches, and America yelps, scrambling to right us. About to stumble out of the window, I pull myself back to my seat and check to see if England is still on the bed.

He is. And he's no longer gasping for breath.

I'm not entirely sure he's breathing at all.


	18. Before I Fall Into Despair

Author's Note: Sorry for the slow update. I honestly don't have a real excuse this time.

Possibly I didn't have enough reviews from the last chapter to properly inspire me. Of course, it should be simple to avoid such a consequence for this and the next chapter... Hint, hint.

* * *

_Lithuania_

Without much of a choice, I watch the island grow beneath us.

I hope we're not jumping into things too quickly. I mean, it's certainly been more than long enough since first coming to the island, but... We've still only just really made it here. We're not even sure the place is going to stay solid for us and not swallow us up! What would happen if we're carrying one of the stranded nations out, and we drop? Could we take them with us? They may not be in good condition, but it's better than entombing them in and among the sand.

But—there's nothing I can do now. I'm not about to push Russia out of the pilot seat to pull us up myself, and I feel like I'm the only one worried, anyway. It wouldn't be the first time.

Just... Everyone was mostly all right the last time we somehow checked on them, so do we really need to take things so quickly? I have no idea what we're really dealing with—even Romania doesn't have a full explanation—and I just... don't want to get any of us into anything we can't get out of. Especially when some of us are pretty fragile at the moment.

Okay, just... calm down. We're finally saving Poland and Estonia and the others now, and that's definitely a good thing. Or, I hope we're saving them...

The helicopter lands, and Russia lets the rotor stop spinning before he takes off his seat belts.

"All right, Lithuania," he starts, "we're looking for any of the stranded nations. This helicopter has the most room for them, so we'll probably end up flying the most back. Stay by me so if you find someone, I can tell the others, okay?"

"Okay," I respond automatically, unstrapping myself and getting out. Here's hoping I don't regret agreeing...

Although there's plenty of risk in this place, so Russia wouldn't try to "toy with" me, right? The immortality could have gone away again the second we stepped in here, and he wouldn't take that chance. He may be some sort of psychopath, but he's not quite that bad. He wants friends too badly to actually kill anyone.

I still can't help but feel a bit cold once I'm walking the shore next to him. Although I think he really does suck the heat out of the air around him...

We keep up the journey, not talking much. Russia does chat with some of the others on the line, though. England's been found. So has Liechtenstein. A while later, the Italies and Spain are taken care of.

"Just Estonia and Poland left for us, then," Russia says.

I rub an arm. "Does that mean we should go in the trees? They were last seen in there, right?"

"I guess so. Good idea!" He immediately pivots on his foot and strides into the trees. If he walked any slower, I would have run into him before I even knew he turned.

Instead I follow, fanning my face and keeping an eye out. Poland and Estonia are around here somewhere. If nothing else, they're probably still together. That makes things easier, in theory at least. Whether we actually stumble upon them is another matter altogether.

"Poland?" I start, pausing to see if anyone responds. Russia calls Estonia's name before I can get to it.

They can hear us, right? After all, it seemed like England had gone deaf. But Poland and Estonia were having some sort of conversation, right? And that would require hearing.

Especially when Estonia won't be doing any lip-reading.

Frowning, I yell Estonia's name. My voice has the slightest echo, but no one replies.

I'm sure he's fine. Sort of, um, _blind_, but otherwise fine... But why would he be blind? Apparently there wasn't anything wrong-looking about his eyes, and he still has his glasses. Did he retain brain damage, hypoxia, or something? Did he just not come back to life correctly? If he's returned from a rotted state where nothing works, not healing completely from just that—let alone his actual cause of death—could cause problems.

Has the immortality loss reached that point? Is there so little left even the decomposition can't completely heal? And if that's the case, what else could be wrong with him? It seems like anything could go wrong—and who's to say it hasn't? We saw him talking, but what about walking? What else could have happened to him besides going blind? Would he ever get better, even if we get him out of here? How could a nation—especially such a computer aficionado—live totally blind? Would that bode ill for his people?

And what about Poland? Even if he seemed talkative and sighted, who knows what the real story is? We only got the barest glimpse, enough to know he's alive and relatively well, and nothing else. For all I know, there could be unhealed, clotted blood going around his system, waiting to block off his heart or lungs when it gets the chance. Or maybe it already has. It's been a few days, after all. Or he could have just died of starvation. And so could Estonia...

Oh, gosh, I need to stop this before I give myself a heart attack... After all, I might not come back from it here...

"Lithuania?"

I jump high enough I barely avoid stumbling to the ground.

Russia ducks a bit to eye me curiously. "Do you need to take a break? We haven't been walking that long, but you're awfully sweaty."

"I'm fine," I reply breathlessly. As far as physical endurance goes, that's not a lie at all. "Let's just—keep going." I take a few steps, trying to slow my breathing.

Russia gets back to walking but continues to stare at me. After a moment, he offers, "Do you need a drink?"

"U-um..." You know—forget it. I'm not going to be driving the helicopter or anything. In the mean time, I might as well keep from killing myself with anxiety. "Maybe just a little bit would help..."

"Okay." Calling for the missing nations again, he pulls out his vodka bottle and a glass.

"Just a little bit," I mumble again.

Okay, calm down... No need to be trembling. You're just walking around looking for nations bound to be found sometime today. No danger. Just don't trip or anything, and keep looking as well as you can.

The small amount of liquid Russia gives me goes down fast. If it doesn't do any other good, it at least cools my throat. I can't say the same for my water bottle. Unfortunately I don't seem to be a walking refrigerator like my neighbor here. Maybe I could ask him to hold my water bottle... Oh, let's not. Isn't worth the trouble.

I catch someone speaking, but it's too faint to catch the first word. "...Just, like, slow down so I can catch up already!"

My breath catches in my throat. "Po-Poland?" I call, turning in the direction of the voice.

"Duh. Dragging Estonia along, too."

Russia claps. "We found them!"

I duck around a tree in case it's blocking the way. "Well, we can't really see them yet..."

Russia shrugs, passing me. After a second's hesitation, I follow him. Hopefully Poland was talking from this direction, or we're just putting him through more trouble.

But it's _Poland_. And Estonia. I don't know what happens next, but at least right now, something's going right.

I only just catch a flash on blonde through the leaves before Poland bursts onto the scene. He pulls a stumbling Estonia behind him but doesn't manage to keep him from running straight into a branch.

"Whoops. Like, go to the right a little."

With a sigh, Estonia obeys, finally coming to a stop when he's about even with Poland.

Neither of them looks particularly good, but they're no skinnier than I expected. The stink of rot still clings to Estonia, but he doesn't look decomposed, and no one seems to have any festering wounds. Or much of any wounds at all. Just a few healthy-looking scratches. Nothing bleeding. No horror stories. Estonia's eyes even look fine, if unfocused.

"Estonia and Poland are right here," Russia says, looking up at one of the hovering helicopters.

Poland glances at him. "I always knew he was crazy, but I didn't know he, like, actually talked to himself."

I laugh quietly. "I'm pretty sure he's just letting the others know." I shift my feet, giving Poland another good look-over. "So—are you feeling all right? I guess that's sort of a dumb question, but... you know."

Poland shrugs. "Like, I'm really tired and kinda achy, but otherwise I'm all right." At that he thunks his head back onto a branch, making it rattle. "Ugh, I totally sound like an old man! Or at least Japan."

Estonia gives me enough time for my laughter to die away before responding himself.

"I'm about the same. A little—" he fiddles with his glasses—"unnerved, too, but overall okay, especially considering I just came back this morning."

I frown, hearing Poland's exasperated sigh over Russia's conversation with the others. "Just this morning?"

"He's been back for, like, ages," Poland says before Estonia can respond. "He's just also gone crazy."

"Have I, now?" Estonia responds, leaning against a trunk.

"Yes!" Poland responds, turning towards Estonia. "And I've told you that, like, sixty times!"

Estonia pauses, expression clearly wondering what on earth Poland is up to. "All right, then."

With another sigh, Poland looks back at me. "Like I said—gone nuts. He doesn't remember anything I tell him. I feel like a nagging wife or something. A nagging, old lady wife." He puts his weigh back on his feet. "I'm, like, so glad you finally made it here, Lithy. This place sucks. I've, like, been in worse, but this is definitely up there. Especially when my only company has gone totally bonkers."

He gives Estonia such a look the blind nation can feel it enough to hold up his hands. "What, me?"_  
_

"I give up." Poland crosses his arms. "Hey, big nose. Are they, like, going to get us out of here or what?"

Russia blinks, looking down at him. "Oh, yeah. I'll fly you out." He starts to extend a hand but pauses midway. "You'll both owe me one, though, right?"

"They will not!" I respond, frowning at him.

He frowns himself. "But I'm saving their lives, right? That seems like something they would owe me for."

"Well, if you don't do it, someone else on the island will." I sigh, taking Estonia's shoulder to guide him. "Let's just go. Since you're all doing okay, we can get to the helicopter before worrying about IVs."

Poland follows me, while Russia walks alongside without a word. That's usually not a good sign with him... Well, he wouldn't do anything _now_, right? Although I guess he could always wait until later... Maybe I should double-check the hotels instead of staying in his house...

It takes a while, and all of us do a fair bit of drinking—be it vodka, lukewarm water, or oral rehydration solution—but eventually sand comes beneath our feet.

"We're still some distance from the helicopter," I start, turning Estonia as we continue.

"So much walking," Poland groans, although he's still keeping up well enough.

"Oh, there's a helicopter?" Estonia responds at the same time.

I glance at the nation I'm guiding. "Yeah." Didn't I already mention that? Or maybe it's just me. No need to panic...

"Well, I probably should have figured that out." He slides his glasses back up his nose. "There's can't be enough space on the island for a big enough plane."

"Definitely not." I chew on my lip a bit as we go over the sand.

Russia, who has since pulled ahead, suddenly stops, reaching toward his headset. I can hear someone else talking, but it's not distinct from here. Russia frowns before pulling one end away from his ear.

"...so you might want to avoid flying anyone out, for now. But I'm sure we'll get it fixed soon, so no worries!" America.

Russia adjusts his little microphone. "And you said it started to crush him?"

"Yeah, but it's no big deal. He's fine." As America pauses for breath, I swear I hear someone else yell, "No, he's not!" but I could easily be imagining it.

"Oh?" Russia cocks his head to the side. "Someone else seems to think to the contrary."

"Yeah, well, France is crazy." America's laugh is a bit too high-pitched. "Uh—I'll go talk some sense into him. Bye."

A click, and the only voices left aren't loud enough for me to hear well. Russia lets the earphone snap back to his head.

"So," I start, swallowing, "what was that all about?"

Russia swings his arms as he walks. "Apparently we can get through the barrier just fine, but they—" he gestures at Estonia and Poland—"aren't so lucky just yet. America tried to fly England out, but England ended up being smushed between the barrier and the back of the helicopter." He puts a finger to his chin. "Apparently he's not doing too well now. I wonder if he'll make it."

I shiver. What it must feel like to be crushed to death, in such a starved condition no less...

But we don't know that he's dead. If it's not that bad, I'm sure he could pull through. It still couldn't have been fun to be flattened like that, though...

"Ah!" Poland starts, squinting. "Is that, like, your helicopter?"

"Helicopter?" Estonia echoes.

Blinking, I turn towards where we're headed. Indeed, the aircraft is perched there and ready for loading.

"Yeah," I say. "But wait—we're not flying anyone out, right?" I bite my lip. "I guess we might as well get you there just for the shade and comfort, but..."

Poland sighs. "So we're, like, not getting out of here after all."

"Well—not yet," I respond. "But maybe they'll break some last spell-thing in the next hour or so."

At least, I sure hope so.


	19. This Bloody Road

Author's Note: For those of you thinking along the lines of, "the pleasure afforded by the little I had read gave place to mortification when I considered the uncertainty there was of ever finding the portion that appeared to me yet wanting of this delightful story" (from _Don Quixote_, for the curious). The next planned chapter. I won't make any further promises for this fic, but here's this much.

Apologies for all things OC.

Reviews are always appreciated.

Also, Wernicke's aphasia.

* * *

_Wales_

"The ash grove how graceful, how plainly 'tis speaking  
The harp through its playing has language for me."

I can only sing quietly as I watch the soup broth heat over the stove. I haven't been feeling well for some time now—thanks to my brat of a brother's indecision, isn't it?—but I must eat something eventually.

"Whenever the light through its branches is breaking,  
A host of kind faces is gazing on me."

I watch the potato chunks bob in the broth for one more moment before turning to chop up the leeks.

Ridiculous, it is. How I'm my own country but am still so tightly tied to what England does. The Bomb Plague hasn't even hit U.K. territories, but does that mean Scotland and North and I get a break? Of course not.

"The friends from my childhood again are before me  
Each step wakes a memory as freely I roam."

You'd think I'd get used to being under England so long, isn't it? I'm just not the type, though. I've forced him to let me represent us in meetings before, and I did a better job of cooperating than he would. Did a better job of everything, probably. But jump over and break all of a nation's ribs once—_one time_—and suddenly you're not welcome at meetings anymore.

He seriously mistook me for England, all right? And we don't even look alike! My eyes are blue! And our accents are _not_ the same...

"With soft whispers laden the leaves rustle o'er me  
The ash grove, the ash grove alone is my home."

With a huff, I finish chopping and dump the leek into a pan to sauté. Giving the broth another stir, I set the spoon down—

My heart completely stops. I'm on the floor before I can feel any pulse again, and the heated pan has been knocked onto my lap, flinging pieces of leek across the floor. Swearing, I get the hot metal off me with shaking hands, but my breathing won't steady, and black splotches dance across the room.

What did you do now, brawd...?

I try to get up, to at least turn off the stove, but all I do is fall again, blacking out on contact.

* * *

The first thing I notice is the wetness at the back of my head. As I start to push myself up, the smell of burnt broth makes me feel even more nauseous, and then I'm just trying to get to my feet as slowly as possible. It doesn't feel like I'm still bleeding, at least, but the thought hardly makes me feel any better. If I was under the weather before...

Swallowing bile, I finally put weight back on my feet, a few slices of leek falling from wrinkles in my clothes. Pieces are still scattered all over the floor. What a waste, of such a beautiful vegetable, too.

Breath rattling in my ears, I go ahead and sweep up the mess and, after a bit of hesitation, dump it in the bin. The stove goes off with a click, but the ruined broth right under my nose makes me retch. Still coughing, I take the first door out of the kitchen for air and find myself stumbling into a living room table. Luckily I keep my balance, although a Bible thumps to the carpet with a little poof of dust.

With a sigh, I stoop over and pick it up, unfolding the page that was bent in the process. Wrinkles shoot across the page, through every verse but one:

"Strike them with terror, LORD; let the nations know they are only mortal."

Well! Good thing I don't do bibliomancy...

Setting the book back on the table hard, I close my eyes for a minute, but it does nothing to dull the pain in my head. Perhaps some fresh air would help me, whatever is going on. At any rate, it couldn't hurt...

Arms wrapped round me as if to keep me together, I slip out the front door and take a deep breath. It's a beautiful day, sunshine and very blue skies. Unfortunately, the air smells of blood more than anything else. It's faint enough I can still smell some grass and flowers beneath, but that hardly means it's not there.

Swallowing, I shut the door behind me and take a few steps down the street. Nothing would seem particularly worse if I still felt to be in decent condition. Doors shut, a bit of dust starting to gather on the handles. Some heaping bags of rubbish nobody's going to pick up anytime soon. Other odds and ends, face masks, paper bags, glass bottles, scuttling down the road from the wind.

Somehow it all bodes worse in my half-disjointed state of mind. Eh... What was I singing before? Wouldn't hurt to lighten the mood a bit.

"Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander  
When twilight is fading I pensively rove"

My voice is too weak now to sound its best, but, to some extent, singing is singing, isn't it? Always a pleasure. And I could use a little of that.

Taking a deep breath between lines, I start ambling down the street.

"Or at the bright noon tide in solitude wander  
Amid the dark shades of the lonely ash grove."

The blood stench doesn't get any stronger or weaker as I walk. For a moment I think I see a spatter of red on one car, but it's only rust.

" 'Twas there while the black bird was cheerfully singing  
I first met that dear one, the joy of my heart"

I just save myself from stumbling over some piece of scrap metal when I hear shouting. Looking for the source—to shut it up if possible—I endure a minute of head-throbbing before I see the person in a long, white dress hurrying towards me.

"Around us for gladness the blue bells were ringing  
But then little thought I how soon we should part."

She's not moving all that quickly, and her feet pound the asphalt hard. The burden in her arms is likely the cause. It's not that big, but still far too large for a doll, and his only motion is his head bobbing in time with the woman's footsteps. Feeling more ill, I can't make myself move any further as she hurries towards me.

"My lips smile no more, my heart loses its lightness;  
No dream of the future my spirit can cheer."

"Mister!" Hoarse with shouting, her voice seems. I finally trail off my singing as she comes to a a stop in front of me.

Her hair is a wild tangle of black, her eyes red-rimmed and fairly bloodshot. Her skirt is ratty and torn in various places near the bottom, and with such a noticeable dusting of dirt and grass I have to wonder how long she's been wearing it. She's in sandals that look a bit better off than her dress, and her feet are dirty but without gashes. The boy in her arms looks to be about ten years old, but his face is so much paler than the woman's I'm not surprised at the stillness of his chest.

"Mister," she repeats, breathing in rasps as her knees hit the ground. She continues with a flurry of words too fast for me to understand.

"Slow down," I say, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She's hot to the touch. "I can't make out a word you're saying."

Swallowing, she nods, catches her breath, and starts again. "Trystan hasn't been well, and the last doctor I saw had gotten so used to pronouncing others dead—he was one who treated people with the Bomb Plague—he called my son dead, too, and he refused to see him. The next hospital wouldn't let him in because they were a normal place instead of a plague place, but I know I caught the smell of the diseaseinthereanyway, and theyforcedmeawayandtriedtocallhimdeadagain—"

"Calm down," I say before she can speed up any more. "What's your name?"

"C-Carys."

"Carys, I want you to take a few deep breaths before you go on, okay?"

She nods, doing her best to comply even though a few tears have started to snake down her face. "So... So I've been trying to find anyone who can help, but no one's coming out of houses, and everyone I've seen on the street has been dead."

_Everyone_? But—she could just be delusional. I don't think the medical professionals were the ones in error in this story, so... No reason she couldn't be wrong about that, too. Although, really, with the way I've been feeling...

"How far have you come?" I start.

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I've been—I've been up since an hour or so past midnight, when I first noticed Trystan being... less responsive, and it's... I don't think a whole day has passed." She nods before looking up at me. "What time is it?"

My mouth hangs open for a second as I check my watch. "15:47." That late? Goodness...

Carys echoes me, staring at the ground for a moment before she seems to remember she was talking. She stares at the side of Trystan's face and continues, "But I've been looking for someone to help, and now—" she pauses—"What's your name?"

"Cym—" Shaking my head, I rub under my bangs. This is a human, you dolt. Get your darn act together... "Rhys," I answer.

She nods. "I'm glad I've found you, Rhys. It may be some trouble, but—" she carefully sets Trystan on the ground, laying his limbs out straight—"please-please find some way to help my son."

I eye the corpse without the slightest idea of what I'm supposed to do.

"We're quite sure it's because of that plague," she says, crossing her now-free arms cross her stomach. "He-he started having the bleeding problems, a-and he couldn't sleep well." She swallows hard, possibly in an attempt to stop crying. "By the time the ulcers started appearing, he was feverish, and now—now I haven't been able to get him to eat, or drink, or open his eyes..." She trails off into tears, hugging herself, and I exhale slowly.

After a moment, I start, "Carys?"

She looks up at me, trembling. I can't meet her gaze.

"You know—" your child is already _dead_—"you know the only treatments there are last but a few days?"

Wavering, she looks down at Trystan. "Maybe in a few days they could find the cure."

It wouldn't do him any good.

Holding my tongue, I shift my legs beneath me. They still ache, though not as badly as my head or chest. Not much I can do about that unless this outbreak backs off.

Suddenly Carys retches. My head snaps up to check on her, but she's still kneeling there, clutching her abdomen. Now her head is tilted so she couldn't get anything on her son, but nothing makes it out of her system, anyway.

"Carys? Carys." After a minute of coughing and straightening herself, she looks up at me. "Everything all right?"

With a shuddering inhale, she nods. "Just... Just sick with worry." She offers a weak smile.

I scoot the slightest bit away from her. Nausea is one of the first symptoms of the Bomb Plague. And if Trystan died of it, and she's been clinging to him for some fourteen hours... I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't be too optimistic about her chances.

Nothing I can do, though. It's a good bet no one's going to come up with a cure within the next few days—and even if they do, there won't be enough of it to go around for a while longer. So I just have to keep watching my people die. Before long, I fear I'll go down with them.

Cold despite the sunshine, I find I can't really bear to look at either person before me anymore.

"All right," I start, closing my eyes. "I'm going back to my house to see if there's anything that could help. Carys, you stay here and take his pulse."

"O-okay." She wraps her hands round his wrist, and I turn away, getting to my feet. Black blotches swarm my vision, but after a few steps it's not quite so hard to go farther.

There shouldn't be many cars—I haven't heard one pass by my house all day—so no reason to worry about having her stay in the street. Somehow I doubt it, but maybe after so many minutes of finding no pulse, she could even figure out her son is no longer with us. In the meantime, I—I'm going to check the news and see just how bad this has gotten. I really don't care to go out and check. I'm not in good enough condition to tolerate much of this—

Carys makes another retching noise, and I find myself turning to look. The asphalt in front of her isn't so clean anymore. Blood dribbles down her chin before she leans to throw up more.

She's definitely infected. She's _been_ infected. She probably doesn't have all that much longer, and why am I still standing here _watching_?

With a hitch in my breath, I turn and start running for my house. It's only a few doors away, but every bone and every joint feels jarred as I go, and I still feel like I could black out any second. But Carys is dying behind me, and I've watched enough die in the last two weeks already. No more, not now, not when I swear it hurts to even think.

I collapse to the floor the minute I'm back inside my living room. The door cuts off most of the blood reek, but it's on me, or in me, or all over—all over Wales, as it were, so I can't... can't escape.

Half-drowning in sweat, I reach over to turn on the fan, but nothing happens. I try the switch a few more times, but still no luck. Swearing under my breath, I drag myself to the couch regardless and wait for the television to power on as I get a hand fan from a drawer.

Nothing comes on the screen. I try hitting the power button again, but it's obvious by now that I have no electricity.

No one left to run it?

With a tense grip on the fan, I just will myself to stop thinking about it. Because that'll hardly make it go away, but...

But to be honest, I'm feeling awfully nauseous right now...


	20. Carry That Weight

Author's Note: Well, I have no inspiration, but I've let the cat out of the barn, and just trying to shoot it isn't going to make anyone happy (and this, friends, is why I don't try to come up with metaphors). I can't promise you anything decent, but I shall continue the word-vomit on this subject. Enjoy.

I'm not going to review-beg because apparently it just makes me sound inconsiderate.

* * *

_Canada_

My mobile phone churns out the first few bars of "Let It Ride" before I can answer.

"Hey, bro!" America sounds like he's eating something. I wouldn't be surprised. "How's it going?"

"Fine." I shoulder the phone as I pull my sleep clothes from my carryon. "Getting moved in to one of the empty rooms, and Russia hasn't been too scary yet." I glance at the door. "Of course, he only made it back a few minutes ago."

"Okay, so anyway!" America starts before I get the chance to actually ask how he's doing. "Long story short, we didn't get the guys out today."

"I suspected as much." With a sigh, a settle on the bed, leaning against the pillows. "What exactly was it, though?"

A crackle as the phone brushes against his hair. "We could make it down to them, but they were still trapped. Like, there was some sort of extra dome thing or whatever. Romania couldn't crack it, and... Don't really know what he said after that because I wasn't paying attention, but we gave up on it for then and came back. Well, Switzerland and Germany stayed, and I think somebody else ended up getting a little food for them—wouldn't let me because they were afraid I would eat it on the way back—and, uh, yeah."

Turning, I lean my shoulders back on the headboard. It's a little frustrating having to hear everything secondhand, but it's better than seeing the island again. I may feel okay now, but there's now telling how I'd react setting foot in that place.

"Is everyone going back tomorrow?"

"Yeah." He's smacking so hard it's really starting get annoying. "They're still trying to figure out the newest barrier thing, so we might end up just figuring out who has which nation and go that route. The guys on the island aren't looking very good, so we're giving them at least a little time to eat up or whatever before we jump into that."

"Yeah?" I exhale, sliding further down on the bed. "Was England...?" My voice fades so much even I can barely hear the last syllable.

America hesitates, not chewing for a moment. "Uh... Hey—are you going to stay up for a little bit?"

I glance at my sleep clothes. "...Yeah. Are you heading over here?"

"Yeah." More crunching on his end as his voice perks up again. "What room you in?"

"Um..." I walk barefoot to the door, but I can't see the rest of the hallway well in the dim light. "I'll just wait at the front door, okay?"

"Okay! See ya!"

He hangs up before I can echo.

* * *

I barely get my shoes on and find my way to the door before America comes in.

"Hey!" Checking for anyone else, he steps over the threshold, closing the door with the hand that isn't occupied with a few bags of potato chips.

"Hey," I respond, looking him over. He seems fine—a few crumbs on his face from whatever else he had been eating, but nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe I was just imagining the tinge of worry in his voice when he asked if I'd be up. It's hard to tell with him sometimes. "Did you want to go back to my room, or...?"

"Sure." He grins. "You already check it for bugs?"

I laugh softly. "Russia's not using this to spy on us."

"That's exactly what he wants you to think."

"I know, I know."

He pops a chip into his mouth before I turn around and try to find my way back to my room. This isn't even Russia's main house—why does it have to be so big? It's nice to have a place to stay at a good, median distance from the action, but it's kind of hard to get around.

Thankfully I seem to be the only one who left my light on and door open, so we manage to find my room without ending up in some forlorn corner of the house. I lead the way in, and America shuts the door behind us, kicking off his shoes and flopping onto the bed. I sit down on what space is left.

"So," I start.

"So." Chewing quickly, he watches me for a minute before setting his crinkling bags on the floor within reach. "You were asking about England, huh?" He smiles. "Finally figured out you didn't kill him for good?"

I shrink back. "Well..." With a sigh, I look down at my hands. "I'm... not sure. I—_I_ know I did, but everyone's been trying so hard to convince me otherwise... Well, at least France has been." Shaking my head, I turn back towards him. "I don't know. You can be honest with me, though. _Please_ be honest with me. He was dead when you found him, wasn't he? Was he even... even recognizable anymore?"

America laughs. "You're still off by a long shot, dude. We're not all lying to you, mm-kay? You really didn't kill him last."

I sigh—he's not going to give up on this, either—but continue listening.

"Anyway, being the hero that I am, I was the first to risk landing on the island, and I made it to England. He really wasn't doing too good, but he was alive—" he raises an eyebrow at me, but I pretend to be busy straightening out a twisted pillow case—"and I got him nutrition and everything just fine. I took him to the helicopter to escape, and, uh..."

He gets another handful of chips in his mouth to delay. The only way it could be more obvious he's making all of this up would be if he interjected a battle with aliens. Maybe him carrying England to the helicopter could be true, but not just because England was too weak to stand or something.

I try my hardest to be patient, but I just don't feel like waiting for another pack of lies on a subject so sensitive.

"And then he died?" I guess, folding my arms.

America spews pieces of chip on the bedspread, spending a moment chocking before he finally swallows. "Wh-who told you?"

The panic in his eyes is so out of place I lose track of what I just said.

"Um...What?" I get out.

Blinking, he shakes himself. "I mean, I guess it's news, so..." With a shrug, he eats a few more chips smoothly. "France didn't tell you, did he?"

"No..." I pull my knees to my chest. "No, France hasn't dropped by yet."

That's pretty worrisome in itself, just because he's been so doting on me in all of this. He's already been falling apart from Spain's death... Maybe seeing both of Spain's and England's corpses was just too much for him... I-I should call him once America's done here. Maybe I can try to hurry this up.

"Listen," I start before America can give me his own fabrication of England's death. "I know what I did to England, and I know how it stuck. I've been pretty fragile after all of this, but you don't have to try to protect me. It's hard, but I can handle what happened, okay?" I try to keep the tremor out of my voice in case it undermines my point. "In fact, it would be a lot easier on me if you—all of you—would stop lying to me! I k-killed him, and I just want to deal with it without everyone trying to tell me I didn't! Okay?"

Only catching a glance of America's wide-eyed face, I turn and try to get rid of my tears before I can start sniffling. I know he's just trying to help, but—

"Canada." His voice is hollow enough to get my attention.

Watching me expressionlessly, he sits up and inhales. "I'm not trying to make you feel better. This is the truth. You didn't kill England. I—" his voice breaks—"I did."

I sit up, just in time for America to collapse sobbing into my chest so hard I'm surprised my ribs don't snap.

"A-America," I start in confusion, but I don't know what else I want to say. He's honestly crying, soaking the middle of my shirt as he grips the sides enough to tear at the fabric.

Slowly the numb chill fades, and I wrap my arms around him as he tries to quiet down. This is real. He's not breaking down because I won't listen to him.

He's breaking down because he killed England.

"America," I try again, with a little hug, "calm down. P-please. I-I'm sorry I made you..."

Still shuddering, he at least pulls his head back from me a bit. "I... I didn't mean to, but..." He chokes on a swear word. "I knew how w-weakened he was. I shouldn't have pushed him! I shouldn't have..." His words devolve into choking noises again, and all I can do is keep hold of him, as if it were that easy to keep him from falling apart.

"No one... No one's supposed to die because of me," he says hoarsely. "They're supposed to _live_ because of me... I was just trying to save him! How did—how did everything go so wrong? I already killed him once... He couldn't even-even _move_ when he came back, and then I... and then I just finished him off."

Swearing, he falls into wordless tears for a few minutes before he quiets down a bit.

"Canada?" He looks up at me, face terribly reddened. Throat closed up, I just meet his gaze, painful as it is to see him like this, and nod.

"I... _have_ saved people before, right?"

I gape. "O-of course you have!"

"Yeah?" His gaze drags back down as he tries to catch his breath. "Doesn't seem like it sometimes."

Honestly, I'm starting to get scared now. It's not as if I've _never_ seen him this torn up, but... It's like he's a completely different person, still my brother but not one I know. But he was acting normal enough earlier, and I'm sure he'll put on his smile before he leaves. That's the worst part. How am I supposed to know how well he's healing if he acts the same way all of the time? I may be his only confidant, so I feel responsible for keeping an eye on him, but how can I really?_  
_

"Do you," he starts suddenly, voice stronger but just as joyless, "do you think _she_ could have pulled through, if I had stayed?"

"She?" I echo without thinking.

He squints at me and croaks, "South."

* * *

_"Whoa!"_

_America had to lunge to catch South Vietnam. Lightly cursing the sudden dip in the ground, she weakly shook out her foot as he lowered his arm._

_"You okay?" he asked._

_With a sigh, she shifted more of her weight onto his shoulders. "Yeah."_

_He led her a few more steps ahead before turning to her face. "You know, I can just carry you—"_

_"No." Her voice was sharp despite her shallow breathing. "I want to walk."_

_"Okay." He continued forward with her. "No worries! You'll be back on your own two feet in no time!" He grinned at her._

_She smiled back, though not without a hint of bitterness. "How long have you been telling me that now?"_

_"Dunno, but not much longer!"_

_Her smile vanished, and she turned to watch the ground ahead of them. He blinked, wondering why she wasn't actually smiling more at his assurance._

_"O-oh!" He laughed. "I meant, you'll be healthy again before much longer, not..."_

_She shook her head, smiling faintly for just a moment. "I wonder."_

_"Hey." His arm was already over her bony shoulders, so he just squeezed her arm. "Have a little confidence. You'll be fine, especially when you have a hero like me behind you!"_

_"Yeah, yeah." She smiled._

* * *

_"She's practically on her deathbed, and you want me to leave her _now_?"_

_The officer drew back subconsciously at America's furious tone, but he stood his ground. "Nothing good is going to come of you staying. __I know you're homesick and exhausted—_"

_"I don't care what you say!" America took a step back, towards the tent with South Vietnam. "I can save her! Just give me a little bit long—"_

_"No one wants you here!" the officer barked. "All of your people are sick of this, and you are coming home. Now get in the helicopter!"_

_Controlling his breaths, America stared down the officer a moment more before spinning and bolting for the medical tent. He barely made it two steps before the officer shot his own country._

_America didn't wake up until he was already high over the Pacific._

* * *

"You couldn't have stayed," I murmur, trying not to think any more about the last time he came to me this broken.

"But there had to be something—there-there has to be something..."

By now he's lost control of his sobbing. "I can't—I can't _do_ this anymore, Canada! Pretending to be a hero when all I do is... is... l-let everyone d-die..."

Quaking with tears myself, I haul him into a real hug that squeezes the breath out of us both.

"It's not pretending," I say, barely able to hear my voice over his tearful gasping. "Some things will always go wrong, but that doesn't change who you are. You—you'll willingly throw yourself into all kinds of danger to save others, and _that's_ what makes you a hero. And you've succeeded in saving people, too! Please—I know it hurts, and I-I'm sorry I started this whole stupid train of thought, but… Don't you ever look at yourself like this. You _are_ a hero, and… and…" Too overcome, I just keep hugging him and bury my face in his shoulder.

I don't know how much longer we embrace here crying it out, but eventually we quiet down and pull apart. Wiping snot onto his sleeve, America manages a smile. "You know I'm crazy glad you're my brother, right?"

I swallow. "Seeing as you just told me…"

Laughing hard, he rolls over on the bed to grab his chip bags. "Okay, good. I guess I'll leave you alone for now." Rolling face-up, he pauses and cranes his neck to look at me. "Unless you're up for McDonald's."

I laugh weakly. "I don't know—do I look suitable to go out in public?"

He takes one look at the snot and tears running down my face and bursts out laughing. "Dude, we both look like total wrecks. But that's what drive-thrus are for."

"Ha." I stand up. "Why not, I guess."

"Sweet! You're driving."

"Wha—"

"I," he says, downing another handful of chips, "am emotionally compromised and no longer fit for command. Please note the time and date in the ship's log."

"You did not just quote your _Star Trek_ movie."

"And you—" he jabs his index finger at me—"need to stop being in denial about obvious things."

I wipe a little more moisture off my cheek. "I'm working on it."

"Well, work on it in the car." With a grin, he tosses me the keys to his rental, stomps on his shoes, and opens the door. Heart still aching but feeling lighter somehow, I follow him out.


	21. Things Will Work Out

Author's Note: And so it seems that slow updates shall rein with this story now. Ah, well. Hopefully it won't be too bad (although we'll have to see when I work on _The Long and Winding Road_ for Camp NaNoWriMo next month).

Until then, feel free to review! It helps keep me from being depressed about how poorly I'm writing this.

* * *

_Austria_

The fleet of helicopters leaves early in the morning, and we're on the island before 10:00. Those more recently dragged into this mess remain in the sky, while the rest of us land.

I'm among the landing party, of course, and I step out onto the sand a few moments before Hungary. It's still quite warm out here, although I'm now donning boots a bit less prone to being infiltrated by searing sand. I'm not entirely sure yet exactly what we're doing, but I may as well be prepared.

A stiff breeze stirs my collar as the helicopters empty. We're all in the same area, every imprisoned nation but Liechtenstein having been moved to the same section of the shore. Though I'm not the closest, I can still see them from here: Germany standing, drinking from a bottle, and the others resting against trees. Romano appears to be sleeping, possibly joined by Poland.

"We're back," Hungary announces to the crowd, striding ahead of me. I follow, a few others catching up to us as well.

Germany straightens, glancing at those beside him before walking ahead to meet us. "Find anything?"

"Not really, aru," China says. "They're not sounding too hopeful about it, either."

Germany opens his mouth only to be interrupted by Romania on the loudspeaker. "We've broken all of the standard barriers. What's left is linked to the whole mess of magic behind this, and I don't know if I'll be able to crack that."

"And why—" Germany cuts off, realizing the speaker only broadcasts. Deciding I'm unlikely to make much use of it, I slip my handheld transceiver off my belt and hand it to him. With a nod of thanks he presses down the button and asks, "And why is that?"

"Well, things just get _really_ hard to cast when immortality is involved. I'd probably have to, like, sacrifice 144 albino virgin gypsies or something. And that's after I somehow find the spell. Not easy to come across, especially something this complicated."

Germany sighs, pressing the transmission button but promptly giving up on it.

"Would it be possible to create a spell for our purposes?" Japan starts.

"Ehehe..." Romania exhales. "It's not that easy. To be honest, the only one of us that's any good at making new spells is... was..." England, I presume.

After a moment of dead silence, Romania clears his throat.

"So," starts Russia, finger on his bottom lip, "are we going to go ahead and keep following The Rules with this, then?"

"Eh?" Lithuania, cutting off his chat with Poland, turns towards Russia. "Y-you can't be serious. They're not in condition to start killing each other! They may not..." he looks at the ground—"may not even survive another death, at this rate..."

"Even if none of them would have to kill each other," I put in, "it's extremely likely they would all have to kill several of us before finding the correct nation, and we can't be entirely certain of our immortality now that we've returned here."

Hungary frowns for a moment and takes out her communicator. "Hey, Norway."

"Yes?" He seems to be connected to the speakers as well.

"You said you can see our immortality somehow... right?"

"Ah... Yes. From this distance, it's rather difficult, though."

Hungary shifts her weight to her right foot. "And it would be dangerous for you to come down?"

"We don't know. It's not very likely we could be brought under this spell, especially when you've been able to come back and leave again, but we do know very little about what's really going on."

With a sigh, Hungary lowers the communicator and watches the sky for a moment. A few clouds are gathering, although I don't believe they'll block the sun's heat anytime soon.

"What if—" Hungary's tone has shifted so low I'm almost afraid to look at her—"you just send _him_ down?"

Heaving a sigh, I close my eyes. "Hungary, this is a serious issue—"

"Since he's such a great spellcaster, he'd be able to find a way off, anyway, right? And if not—oh, well!"

"Hungary! Please!" I pull her wrist down, and she lets me get the communicator away from her, although she's still looking a bit too... mischievous, to say the least.

I press the button. "Ahem. Please excuse my wi—n-neighbor. Perhaps there's a more prudent way to go about this."

The next time I glance at Hungary, I think she's giggling about me almost calling her my wife. Well, it's an improvement over plotting Romania's demise.

"Would binoculars help?" America puts in.

Someone connected to the loudspeaker sighs quietly, and then Norway says, "I don't think so. It does seem like I 'see' these things, but I doubt it has anything to do with light rays."

"Well, let's try it, anyway!" America says, withdrawing a pair of binoculars from his jacket.

China squints at him. "Do you always carry a pair of binoculars with you, aru?"

"Don't you?"

Germany sighs, not bringing the transceiver to his mouth. "Go ahead and get it to them, then."

"Will do!" America hurries back to his helicopter, while Germany glances back at the Italies. Romano still has his eyes closed but finally wakes up after a bit of verbal prodding on Italy's part. Italy seems to attempt a smile but can't quite manage it.

It's terrible seeing him like this. He's as traumatized as he was after Holy Roman Empire's egress, yet somehow more... fragile, having not even been in good health. He hadn't been pleased with my... _responsible _distribution of food during his time with me, but he was never starving. In fact, I find it probable he has never gone this hungry in his life, if he maintained the means, even at the cost of all other comforts. Compounding that with his battle wounds, it's no wonder he's in this emotional state.

That doesn't make it any easier to behold, of course.

"Any luck?" Germany asks once the binoculars are in place.

"Well," Norway starts, "not really—"

"Just get down here already or I'll shoot you down!" Switzerland swears, from wherever he is, making the transceivers crackle. "Even if you get put into The Rules, it won't be the end of the freaking world."

"Fine, fine," Romania sighs. "But you'll have to bring Liechtenstein over here if you want us to check her."

No response from Switzerland for a moment. "Whatever. Just hurry up."

Romania doesn't say more, but the helicopter drops out of its hover.

"Er, I'm uncertain about this," I start.

Lithuania sighs. "So are the rest of us."

"Well, the authorities on magic are okay with it." Germany folds his arms. "Threatened or not, they apparently know what they're doing in all of this." With a sigh, he takes another drink.

The helicopter continues to descend until the pair has landed. As Norway steps out, I carefully put myself between Hungary and the vehicle. It would not be convenient if she started a fight with Romania—or vice versa—at this moment.

"Definitely easier to see now," Romania announces a moment after hopping out. I feel Hungary stiffen behind me and try to keep track of her line of vision. If this carries on a while, I may have to escort her elsewhere. I should hope she'll be able to calm down soon, given the situation.

"Yes," Norway says, joining our group with a look back at Romania. "You don't appear any different, so we can at least be comfortable in that part of our safety."

"And the rest of us, aru?"

At that, Norway turns his gaze on China, who flinches back a bit from the cold eyes. After a moment of scrutiny, Norway exhales and looks a few other over. "I can't tell if you've lost any since the last time I saw you outside, but there's certainly immortality about all of you."

At that point he turns to America, pauses, and squints. "…Yes, all of you," he says after a second.

"And them?" Germany starts, stepping to the side of the Italies. He still refuses to look Norway in the eye, but at least they're interacting.

With an inhale, Norway looks at the group of trapped nations for a moment and then steps closer to them.

"Like, seriously?" Poland thunks his head back on a tree trunk. "It's that hard to tell?"

Norway sighs, nodding. He kneels by the group, closing his eyes to better focus, and shakes his head.

"I really can't tell," he says, frowning. "Romania—" he looks over his shoulder—"can you distinguish any better?"

At the mention of Romania's name, Hungary starts growling, so I clamp a hand around her wrist and continue to block her view of him as he walks over.

"Well, your Sight is sharper than mine, but..." He stoops, peering at Italy, who shuffles his shoulders uncomfortably. "I think there's something there, but, uh..." Laughing weakly, he stands back up. "I mean, it'd be easier if we had some mortals to compare them to."

"Try Spain." Romano's voice is cracked. "He's about as fucking dead as it gets."

Romania takes a step back. "I mean, he probably has the same aura as the rest of you, dead or otherwise. I guess it's worth a try, though." He looks over at America. "Where did you end up putting him?"

"Over this way," America says, waving his right arm at the trees. "He's still in the body bag, though."

Romano makes a choking noise as Romania begins to walk towards America. Italy, sniffling, timidly hugs his brother but is only forced back.

"Uh... Hey." Romania stops, looking back towards Italy and the others. "Anyone over there in good enough condition to come with us? For comparison and all."

"Here," Estonia says, pulling himself up for a moment before Latvia helps him to his feet, "just make sure I don't stumble into anything, and I should be able to make it."

"All right, cool." Romania watches Norway lead Estonia to him, and then the little group sets off and disappears behind the trees. Hungary relaxes a bit, and I let go of her wrist.

"So, what next?" Poland starts, stretching. "Like, after they figure out whatever."

"Well..." Lithuania exchanges a glance with some of us, but no one seems entirely certain. "In either case, it would be best to just take down another barrier like we have been, but... I guess, if you're still immortal enough, we could try The Rules..." He furrows his brow. "...haphazardly..."

Hungary steps over between Poland and Italy. "Although there are so few of you left, I'd bet none of you has to kill another in danger." She smiles down on them.

"Yeah, fucking right." Romano folds his arms. "I bet I have to kill England or something."

Italy makes a whining sound. "Don't talk like that, brother!"

Romano turns on him. "Why not? Because you want everything to be okay? Everything is _not_ fucking okay! Spain is dead, we won't be coming back if we die, and even when everyone's come to save us, we're _still_ trapped! You fucking tell me why I should be positive about anything!"

Shivering, Italy chokes on a sob and attempts to pull away from Romano's aura of rage.

"Yeah, that's right! Nothing!"

"Romano, stop!" Germany forces himself between the twins. "You're making him cry!"

"Well, I'm crying, too!" Romano screams, getting to his feet and baring his teeth at Germany. "Did you realize that, bastard?" Watery eyes in a frenzy, he looks over the rest of us trembling.

"Fuck you all!" He spins on his foot and charges for the trees. Grimacing, Germany flashes his arm out towards Romano's wrist, but in the end Japan is the one able to catch him.

"Romano," Japan says slowly, tugging him back. "Please come and sit down."

"Why, because it'll make Veneziano feel better?" Romano spits, but he doesn't fight back. I doubt he has the energy. Rehydrated or not, no one who can barely stomach one mouthful of food is going to be strong.

"You need rest," Japan responds, half-guiding and half-pulling Romano back to the edge of the trees. "Please calm down."

Romano grumbles under his breath, wiping tears away with his free hand. Japan, carefully refraining from casting a glance at the still-sniffling Italy, leads him one tree further from his brother and asks him to sit. With a half-hearted insult, Romano snatches his hand back and collapses on his rear.

"Would you like another drink?" Japan asks him calmly.

"Who cares."

With a nod, Japan turns and walks, bound for one of the supply helicopters.

"Hey, guys!" America's voice breaks the silence as his group returns. "We're back!"

"Great." Lithuania pushes some hair out of his face. "What did you find?"

"You all look the same, dead or alive," Romania says, tossing Estonia's wrist to Lithuania as the bespectacled nation blinks. "Still can't say for sure if there's much, or any, immortality left, but..." He shrugs. "There's just as much chance of either of them coming back as any of you."

Most of us stop to consider this, although Romano mutters something about this surely meaning the rest of them were going to die. I don't attempt to comfort him. As I handed him over to Spain, I doubt he holds my opinion in high regard, particularly at this moment. Swearing vigorously or not, he's extremely fragile right now. It's hard to imagine how he could recover if Spain indeed fails to revive.

Romano would recover, though. He's far from the only nation to have lost someone important, nor will he be the only one to lose Spain. He has a difficult attitude and fewer national duties to occupy his mind, but he'll be able to handle it eventually. If it comes to that, of course. Absolutely no reason to jump to conclusions, especially when the expert has given us chance for hope.

"Would you," Norway begins after a moment, "prefer to carry on with The Rules, or have us search for another spell? The latter could easily go for weeks with no result."

"Weeks?" Germany sighs, looking down at the withered crew seated around him.

"I think going on with The Rules wouldn't take that long," Russia offers. "Let's try it."

"You just want to see us all get slaughtered, don't you?" Latvia mumbles beyond Russia's earshot.

"It shouldn't take much time at all," Norway says slowly. "I don't... I don't believe we'll have to use trial and error." He exhales. "I think I can tell you who must kill whom."


	22. It's Urgent

Author's Note: Um, my apologies to the fifteen people who managed to see the last chapter before I remembered to replace the asterisks in Romano's speech with swear words. (awkward lamb bleat)

In other news, Camp NaNoWriMo has begun! I've set my goal as only 323 words a day (for _The Long and Winding Road_), so hopefully that'll be enough to put me into a writing mood for whichever story, including this one. Worth a shot, right? And so is reviewing, right?

Right?

* * *

_Romania_

The others stare at Norway so dumbly I can't help but laugh.

"Have you known this whole time?" China starts, looking at Norway and then me.

"No," my remaining magic buddy answers, folding his arms. "I still don't know for sure, but I've noticed something since I came down here..." He turns towards me.

"Yeah," I say. "I've noticed it some, too. Could be something else, but it seems a little too strong to be anything else."

"What is it you've noticed?" Germany starts, frowning at us.

"Hmm..." I look at him, Japan, and back again. "Take a few steps forward."

Germany, still looking unhappy, complies, and Norway and I both watch.

"Okay, a few steps to your left," I order. "Good. Now... Raise your arms. And... wave 'em around."

At that Germany stops, giving me a look. With his arms still suspended, he looks pretty ridiculous, and I can't help but burst out laughing. It doesn't help his mood.

"Okay, that last part was just for me," I admit. "But, Norway, you saw, too, right?"

He nods. "It's certainly connected to him rather than some point on the island."

"You did have to kill Japan, right?" I watch Germany lower his arms and nod. "All right, so that must be it."

Japan steps towards us, hands folded. "Would you mind if I asked exactly what you're seeing?"

"Connections." Norway closes his eyes. "It's hard to distinguish one from another with all of you so close, but if everyone spreads out to a reasonable extent, I think I could make a full list of who is bound to whom here."

America waves to get attention. "Does it have to be everyone? 'Cause Canada and France are still back at Russia's place."

Oh, France isn't here. So that's why no one's been butt-slapped in the last hour. I can't complain. After yesterday, there's only so much joking around that can go on without it seeming callous.

Of course, England dying back there doesn't necessarily mean anything. Well, it's definitely been hard on his people, but it doesn't mean he can't come back. If there's one thing our little club knows, it's that anything's possible.

"Why isn't France here?" Germany asks, frowning at America, who shrugs.

"Apparently he was so hungover Canada thought he was dead. Maybe he could show up in a few hours, though? But Canada's still not coming, so..."

Norway exhales. "That may be all right. We'll need to have Liechtenstein over here for sure, though."

"Certainly." Austria pauses. "Wasn't Switzerland coming this way?"

"Maybe he's just taking it slowly," Germany sighs, raising his transceiver and pressing the button. "Switzerland. We're making progress over here. Try to get Liechtenstein to the group immediately."

Norway starts digging points in the ground as we wait for a response. Three sandy indents later, there's still no answer.

"Switzerland? Do you copy?"

We listen to radio fuzz for another moment before Norway stops making his island marching-band markers.

"Maybe he dropped his transmitter somewhere?" Russia offers.

Germany crosses his arms. "He agreed quite a bit earlier that he would bring her, though. Unless something has stopped him..." He turns to face the forest.

Switzerland did seem a little frantic the last time he talked to us. Although he didn't ask for help.

"I, like, haven't heard any gunshots, though," Poland puts in.

"Even if no one attacked them," Japan says to himself, "Switzerland could have fallen—no, no. But... Liechtenstein..."

...was weaker than the now-dead guys _before_ starving for forty-four days?

Branches crash as America takes off in Switzerland's direction. After freezing for a moment, Japan hurries after him, and suddenly we're halfway to a mob rushing out. Germany and the others stay behind, as well as Lithuania, Latvia, and who knows who else because I'm off with the rest of them.

We have to be getting worked up over nothing. I would have felt if somebody died here. Of course, I wasn't concentrating on a wide area, but... With all of this jostling, it's a little hard to focus right now, but... at least one nation's alive up ahead. I'm sure Switzerland's close to his sister no matter how she's doing, so of course it would be hard to tell them apart. Especially when—

Did Hungary just shove me? Uh-uh. That's not going to fly.

I discreetly fling an elbow in her direction as we hurry to Switzerland's tree. She gets me back—or, somebody does—but we're slowing down before I can lose myself in revenge. No choice but to see what's ahead now.

"Switzerland!" America calls, forcing his way straight to the tree trunk.

Before anyone can really panic, Switzerland's head appears, still halfway hidden by the edge of the nest thing he made for himself. "What?" he responds breathlessly.

"Uh, everything okay up there?"

Switzerland sits up, pulling his head out of our range of sight. "...Yeah. Yeah, we're okay."

"Uh, good." America pauses.

"Is there any reason," Austria starts, "you did not answer us on the transceiver?"

"I had it turned off. Here, I'm coming down now."

What, was all of our yapping annoying you? It's not even like Hungary and I started arguing or anything. Something has to be up if he's not going to listen to us being productive.

A foot appears on one of the branches holding up the nest. Switzerland shimmies sideways, balancing with his arms still in the nest around Liechtenstein. He doesn't notice when his elbow knocks something shining to the ground. With a muted crash, it nearly hits my toes.

After the initial period of regaining my balance—not that I jumped or anything—I squint at the cracked glass. Holy crap, that's a long needle. Good thing it didn't hit anybody, even if it's empty.

It didn't used to be full of adrenaline, did it…?

When I look back up in the tree, Switzerland hasn't made much progress. From the way he's balancing, I can tell Liechtenstein must be in his arms, conscious or otherwise. She's alive, though. I can see that much. She can't be injured, either, if he's willing to bring her down.

So if he had to give her a shot to the heart, it was just because she was too weak to keep going.

"Think we ought to let her have the first shot when we work out the list?" I start, voice oddly nervous.

Switzerland pauses to look at me, and I realize he hasn't heard we can figure it out. But all he says is, "Yes," before he continues lowering himself.

It's another few minutes before he makes it to the ground. None of us make any comments. It just doesn't seem right to. No more chattering. Let's just finish this already.

"Did Norway stay behind?" America asks, swinging his head to look over the crowd.

"Looks like it, aru," China says, backing away from our cluster of nations to see a bit better.

"Here," I start, nudging my way closer to Switzerland and Liechtenstein. "If we're starting with her, anyway, we just need to look at her own connections. Let's see what I can get here."

Exhaling, I check between the brother and sister first. There's definitely _a_ bond, but it's not the curse here. A different color, in a manner of speaking. Of course, if there can be "white noise," I guess there's nothing wrong with referring to other senses that way.

Switzerland has one visible curse connection stretching out into space somewhere, and I don't see any others. Good. If I saw his tangled up with Liechtenstein's, I don't think I'd be able to ask him to step away from her.

I turn my focus on Liechtenstein more closely. Looks like two connections hooked onto her, although I can't tell at all what direction they are. I follow one of them for a few paces, but it seems to stretch to the other group on the island, if not farther. Turning around, I check the other, which seems a bit more compressed—it feeds somewhere into the main group of people here.

I step over to its approximate location, but there are too many nations in the same area. "You guys, spread out a little. She's connected to someone over here, but the lines aren't exactly high-resolution, if you know what I mean."

The nations immediately start backing away from each other, but Russia raises his hand. At first I think he's going to request someone to pry Belarus off of him, but he just says, "Liechtenstein's the one I had to kill, so is that what you're seeing?"

"Oh. Yeah, probably." I bite my bottom lip, not very hard but still somehow enough to draw blood.

"What if it goes the other way, too?" Switzerland starts, voice rough. "If Liechtenstein has to kill him?"

At that, Belarus clings a little tighter to her brother.

"Could you tell the difference between one 'connection' and another?" Switzerland finishes, watching me.

"I don't know, but let's not get ahead of ourselves," I respond, holding my hands out in front of me. "She's connected to somebody else, in the other group here by the looks of it."

Switzerland exhales, looking down at his cargo. Liechtenstein at least seems to be taking some of this in. Or, her eyes are open a bit. Who knows if she's alert enough to understand what's going on?

"It would be easier to bring her over there than them here, wouldn't it?" Switzerland sighs, not looking to anyone in particular for an answer.

"Yeah," I respond anyway, figuring I probably have the most authority at the moment.

"Fine," Switzerland mutters, pressing his sister a little closer to him as he takes his first few steps away from the tree.

The rest of us start to flow that direction as well, though we don't dare step in his way. For that matter, Russia and Belarus are kicking debris off the path; Hungary and Austria are bending branches out of Switzerland's way; and Japan and I float by Switzerland's sides in case he somehow still trips. Maybe it's kind of paranoid, but it's too late to let anything happen to this little girl. Too close to the end, one way or another.

Eventually we make it to the shore, where Switzerland comes to a stop as close to the other group as he can.

"Everything okay?" Germany starts, eyeing Liechtenstein and looking at the rest of us when he gets no response.

I nod, checking on Liechtenstein again. "It looks like she's connected to somebody that stayed here while we were, gone, so... Norway?" I look around until I find him. "Can you tell who it is from here, or do we need to break them up?"

Norway backs away from the latest point in his nation-organizing grid and steps up to us. He scrutinizes Liechtenstein for a moment, glances at Russia, and then traces the other line with his eyes. "No, they're too close. Someone on the... Eastern Europe side of the group, but they have too many connections of their own."

Turning his head from their torsos to their faces, Norway asks those around Poland and Estonia to spread out in a line. Lithuania helps Poland to his feet and then guides him a little farther from Estonia; the able-bodied nations continue to move out along the tree line until Norway tells them they can stop.

He focuses back on Liechtenstein's chest, and for a second I wonder if he can see traces of her heart stopping not long ago. But then I realize all of the blurry connections start in the vicinity of the heart. Makes sense, I guess.

Everyone present seems to hold their breath as Norway looks over Estonia, hen Poland. Once he silently passes over them, the tension level drops. Not exactly to zero, but we have every right to be worried about the more immortal ones, too.

Switzerland silently follows as Norway goes on down the line. Lithuania proves to be in the clear. Then Norway stops in front of the next nation.

"Latvia, could you come a bit closer?"

Latvia's breath catches in his throat, but he takes a shaky step forward. I hurry over there for corroboration, and, sure enough, Liechtenstein's other connection leads straight to Latvia.

"It's him?" Switzerland asks, as Liechtenstein watches Latvia blankly.

Norway focuses on the connection again, casting a glance at the other one stretching back just in case Russia decided to stand behind Latvia. "Yes," he finally says, closing his eyes. "Latvia is the nation Liechtenstein must kill."

Latvia makes some sort of "hiii" noise, and Lithuania hurries over to put a hand on his quaking shoulder.

"It's okay, it's okay," Lithuania says quickly, trying to get Latvia to at least stop locking his knees, but with no luck. "You're going to be fine." He looks back at me and Norway pointedly.

"Yeah," I start, swooping in by Latvia's side. "You got out of here pretty early, so you're one of the safest—" I stop myself from saying "to kill"—"out here."

"But—" Latvia stammers for a minute, squeezing his eyes shut—"th-there's still a chance, isn't there? We h-hardly have any idea what's going on—e-even you guys, who know magic, can't get everything worked out. Why would we ever risk k-killing each other? Why w-would we risk hurting more of our people? We c-can get food and medicine over here—why can't we just wait on the last barrier? Wh—"

"Because Liechtenstein _died_ a few minutes ago!" Switzerland barks, quite effectively shutting Latvia up.

"Di..." Lithuania's gaze flicks over to Liechtenstein. "...Died...?"

"Well, her heart stopped," Switzerland corrects gruffly, grip on his sister tightening. "I managed to get it back, but..." He trains his eyes on Latvia, who freezes up more. "She's not safe here. Estonia—he's not safe here, either. For all we know, the rest of us could end up worse if we stay. We have to take care of this now."

He takes a deep breath, possibly because he noticed his voice shaking. "I'm sure you'll be fine, especially if we fly you out afterward. So, if you don't mind... _Don't move_."

Aside from the trembling, Switzerland won't have to worry about that. One more minute of staying locked up like that, and Latvia's going to be passed out on the ground. If Lithuania and Estonia don't catch him, at least.

Coaxing Liechtenstein awake, Switzerland puts a small gun in her hand, although he doesn't let go of it. Probably too much weight for her to carry one-handed, or he's trying to damper the recoil. Or both.

"You don't have to do anything but pull the trigger when I tell you to, all right?" he says softly, readying the gun and aiming carefully at Latvia's head.

"All right." He squeezes her shoulder. "Go ahead."

Liechtenstein exhales shallowly, watching her brother's face. "Are you sure?"

I'm pretty sure she's not worried about his aim.

Switzerland looks back at Latvia, who's a bit tearful now put has pushed his neighbors away to stand alone.

"Yes."

Liechtenstein shifts her neck to look at Latvia, her eyes troubled but weary. He clenches his eyes shut, the slightest nod of assent visible among his shaking.

Liechtenstein has to look back at her brother's face before she finally pulls the trigger.


	23. Distant Eyes

Author's Note: So according to the Google advertisements I keep getting, the only reason someone would learn Russian is to meet Russian girls. Awkward.

Дайте, пожалуйста, pецензия~ (Hint: The second word is "please." Guess what the rest is.)

* * *

_Russia_

Latvia's head snaps back with the bullet, and Lithuania lunges to catch him. The way Latvia flops down, he's probably already dead, although blood still oozes from the entry wound, trickling down the right side of his nose.

I walk over to help dispo—er, put away the body, but Lithuania just gives me a look and drags Latvia further away.

"I'll take care of it." Switzerland, pocketing his handgun, steps forward. It takes me a second to realize Liechtenstein isn't in his arms anymore. I don't think he set her down anywhere, so she must have faded away. That's good!

Lithuania hasn't set Latvia down, so Switzerland just takes the kid's ankles and nods in the direction of the closest helicopter.

"Japan! Have your cell phone on you?" Switzerland calls.

"Yes—"

"Okay, come in the helicopter. We'll call Liechtenstein once we get to a place with service."

With a nod, Japan pads over and helps them load Latvia in the back of the helicopter. After a minute of hesitation—as usual—Lithuania bids them good luck and heads back towards Estonia and Poland. I think Switzerland says something else, but he's already starting up the blades, and he's pretty far now, anyway, so I can't make out any words. It's probably just a see-you, anyway. I wave as they take off, and then I turn back towards everybody else.

"So, if everyone else is in stable enough condition, it would be a good idea to wait on Latvia's regeneration, just in case." Norway sighs, staring at the tiny blood spatters on the sand. "I could at least figure out the last connections we need in the meantime."

Germany looks down at the four maybe-mortals. "What do you think? Do you want to know now, get yourselves ready for what you'll have to do?"

"Provided your targets are sufficiently safe," adds Austria, sighing.

"And not already dead," Romano says tonelessly, tugging at a random lock of his hair.

Germany frowns at both of them before China steps up.

"Maybe we should just wait, aru. No point making them worry about killing anyone if we're not sure. They'll have plenty of time to get ready if they have to, aru."

Everybody stops to think for a moment—except for Poland, who decides now is the time to make sure someone had been taking care of his pony—although I don't really see what the big deal is. The others just think in weird ways sometimes. Maybe if any of them would ever talk to me over dinner, I could figure it out.

Scuffing at the sand with my shoe, I watch the others go back to talking with each other. Sounds like we're going to figure out the connections but not worry about them until Latvia's corpse reanimates. That's fine with me.

I wonder if we'll be eating soon. It's almost lunchtime, isn't it?

"Hey," I start, "I can get everybody's lunch ready while you do that."

Romania shrugs, pulling some papers out of Estonia's briefcase. "Sounds good to me. You guys hungry yet?" He looks at Estonia for a second before shaking his head and exchanging glances with Poland and the Italies.

Italy nods, looking to his brother for a similar response, but Romano just sits there blankly watching a cloud.

"Yeah, I could eat, like, a little." Poland chews on the inside of his cheek. "It's not just that grody mush stuff again, is it?"

"And milk," Hungary says, just in case that makes the multivitamin mix sound tastier. It's not very convincing. I'm glad I have a packed lunch for myself.

Poland sticks out his tongue and points down his throat with a gagging noise. "Whatevs. I guess I need it."

"Yeah. No need to make too much," Lithuania tells me.

"I won't," I say, turning towards the helicopters to figure out which one had most of the food again. I haven't made it to the closest remaining copter before footsteps crunching in the sand follow me.

"Here, I'll help you," Lithuania says, casting a nervous glance back at Poland and Estonia. "Not that I don't think you can do it yourself, but, um, just in case."

"Oh, okay!" I let him catch up and then walk to the helicopters. There's still a big dent in the sand from the one Switzerland took. Apparently everyone made it back out of the barrier all right. That's good.

Behind us, Norway has the others arrange themselves across the sand so he can see the connections better. He's already marked where they should go in the sand, so it's not much trouble for everybody that can walk okay. Hungary helps Poland get to a spot, and Norway guides Estonia himself. Germany helps Italy up, but the latter wobbles and stumbles so badly Romania decides he ought to stop where he is. Italy's far enough from his brother nobody has to move after that.

In the meantime, Lithuania has figured out which helicopter we need, so we get to mixing up the foodstuff. Asking me to get a container, he pulls out the powder and some containers of water. Once I start mixing, I glance over my shoulder at the others.

A few are already sitting down at their places, as Norway crosses between random pairs of nations. Italy keeps his eyes closed—except that doesn't really mean anything—but the others all seem to be watching. Even Estonia follows Norway with his head, although that's not going to do him much good unless he knows where everyone is sitting.

"Do you think this is enough?" I start, tilting the bowl towards Lithuania so he can see. Busy watching the others, he jumps at my question.

"Uh, yeah," he says, glancing at the mush.

"Okay!" I tap some goop off the spoon and shove the bowl in Lithuania's face. "You can run it to them, and I'll go get my lunch. You want yours?"

"Um—" pushing milk cartons under his arm, he takes the multivitamin mush—"no, thanks. I'm really not hungry yet."

"Oh, okay." I pause, letting my arms drop, and Lithuania gives me a nod before hurrying to the ones that are starving. I look over at the lunchbox with my meal before deciding somebody else has to get hungry soon. I can wait. Maybe I can't get everyone to eat together in my house, but we could here, right?

Grabbing an extra thing of milk, I exit the helicopter and hurry after Lithuania.

* * *

Watching Norway draw out the list is boring, and I start wishing I at least brought a snack while I'm waiting. I guess he already got all of the important connections, but he's tracing out everything else just to double-check himself. Since Liechtenstein still hasn't answered her phone, I guess we do need to make sure we're right. But she did disappear from the island, so she would have had to have been connected to Latvia like that, right?

Bleh. Black magic is confusing.

Nothing very interesting is happening right now. America's playing a game on his phone, Estonia and Poland are chatting, and Romano's refusing to eat. Italy's wailing about something, Austria is picking sand out of his jabot, and Hungary's watching Romano and Lithuania with a frown. China doodles lines on the sand next to him, while Belarus stares at the light shining off a knife in her hand. I always wonder what she's thinking about when she zones out like that. Or if she's thinking at all. I bet if I snap her out of it, she'll eat lunch with me. The thing is, do I want her to? She's been more clingy today, so...

Although everybody else is bored, so eating is at least doing something, right?

"Anybody else want to eat lunch?" I start, crossing my elbows to grab my knees.

"We're kind of in the middle of something," Romania says slowly, turning his head away from Norway for a second. "To be honest, just feeding the four of them shifts enough connections around to be distracting. We don't need anybody else running around. Just wait a minute—we've got most of it worked out."

"Okay," I sigh, shifting to lean my cheek on my hand. At least China looks disappointed, too. America's too busy playing Fruit Assassin to pay any attention.

Norway makes Lithuania sit down farther from Romano, and there's a while longer of Norway and Romania wandering around the group and over to the body bags before they finally decide they're finished. America finally whoops and runs for the food helicopter, while a lot of the others stretch and get to their feet. Belarus is still staring at her knife.

Everyone who brought lunch starts to trickle towards the helicopters, so I go with them. After a minute of fighting past elbows, I get to my meal.

I set Belarus's lunch by her and sit by Lithuania's group to eat mine.

* * *

Since Switzerland kind of kidnapped Latvia by taking the helicopter, and Latvia's not going to come back for at least another day, anyway, we end up having nothing else to do on the island. Eventually we start going back to the helicopters, and Lithuania and Germany stay behind this time. Most of the rest of us are headed to my house, though, so that could end up being fun.

I'm the first to make it back, so I head to my own bedroom and watch the news. More of the same. An estimated forty-five percent of Spain's population is gone. The U.K.'s catching up pretty quickly—so quickly we're not even entirely sure whether they've caught up or not. We still haven't gotten any official information from them since England died, but the dead just in his area might have already passed fifty percent. It was barely bast twenty percent two days ago. England's gone down headfirst, and he's dragging his brothers with him.

The rates have gone down enough at my place that only a few specific deaths make it to the news. Things are about the same for everyone else that had been on the island. A few deaths here and there, the lowering frequency credited to things our bosses did that probably had nothing to do with it. Worse rates in Poland, Estonia, and Italy still. A little bit worse than it had been in Latvia.

They're still trying to figure out what's doing all of this. Some scientists finally found non-host D.N.A. in one of the infected samples, but it turned out to be contamination with a common harmless bacteria.

By the time I'm finished updating myself, it's probably a good idea to get dinner started if I want to cook it myself. I'd better go see who's interested.

I can't remember who's in what room since I let them choose, so I just knock on all the bedroom doors I pass. All of the rooms in the same hallway as mine are empty. The next few are empty, too, and then there's Belarus, in her old room. Or, I know that's where she's been staying—she's not inside right now. A few doors later is China's door. He opens it but seems disappointed that it's me.

"Have you eaten supper yet?" I start.

"No, but I will soon," he says slowly, folding his arms behind his back.

I clap my hands together. "Good! I'm about to get started cooking, if you wanted to help make anything."

He exhales. "I was just going to make some dumplings, aru."

"Oh?" I tilt my head to the side. "Okay. I'm sure I can help with that, too. You'll have to give me some instructions—"

"No, don't worry about it. I'll be fine by myself, aru." He ducks under my elbow and starts heading for the kitchen. "Thanks, though."

I spin around and grab his arm, jerking him back. "It's no trouble for me."

"Hey—" he wriggles his arm a little bit, but I don't dare let go. If I let go, he gets away, and I don't know if anybody else will cook or eat with me. He's at least kind of my friend. Right?

I open my mouth to ask, but my solar plexus implodes, and I double over coughing. Did something else happen? It didn't feel like that first bomb—

"Back off, aru! There's enough crap going on and people dying right now without you trying to freak me out, too! Leave me alone!"

He's already disappeared around a corner before I realize he hit me.

Um... At least it wasn't anything happening to my people...

I close China's door for him and go back to knocking. Japan's gone from his room, but he doesn't talk to me, anyway. Austria and Hungary aren't interested. America must have already left for McDonald's, although I'm not particularly disappointed. France loudly declares that he's fine and slams the door shut again before I can even say anything.

I keep going down doors with no answer. Was anyone else even staying here? Lithuania, but he stayed behind. Germany, too. Switzerland went back home, or to Liechtenstein's. Romania and Norway are sharing a hotel room, and Ukraine's over there, too. Was Turkey here or there? Everybody's running around so much it's hard to keep track.

At this point I'm just drifting down the hallway, knocking on doors without coming to a stop at any one of them. I can't see any slits of light underneath them, so I guess I've ended up too far from the entrance for anyone to be staying here. I don't want to just eat alone again, though... Maybe I should have stayed on the island... Although nobody there really talked to me much, either...

"One second."

Just about to knock on another door, I freeze. Who was that? Did I miss one of the occupied rooms that easily?

I scuttle back a door, but there's still no light. The next door opens just as I get back in front of it. Canada! How did I forget about him?

"What's going on?" he starts, running a hand through his hair. I think he might have been napping or something. But he's awake now, and he's the last one here, so he must be ready to hang out with me!

"We're going to cook something together and then eat it together," I tell him, taking his wrist and pulling him into the hallway. He stumbles a little, waving his other arm, so I laugh. "Come on, sleepyhead, keep up."

"Um..." He scrambles to get back his footing, but it looks so funny I just go faster to throw him off. Hey, if I hurry, I bet China will still be in the kitchen, and then we can all kind of cook together!

Dragging Canada over the bumpy carpet, I hum happily. It drowns out the faint sound of whatever he's saying behind me, but I'm sure it can wait until we're all in the kitchen together.


	24. Roll with the Punches

Author's Note: The awesomeness of this chapter is due to its being written by Obiwanlivesforever (although still from my notes). It's about time you got another chapter from someone who actually feels a pull toward the story.

So, if you don't want to review for me, review for her?

* * *

_Belarus_

"So, who goes first?" Romania folds his arms, looking over the assembled crowd.

It's been a few days since Liechtenstein returned home. In that time Latvia has recovered completely, meaning the rest of us are free to keep following The Rules. There's still no guarantee that whoever dies next won't be gone for good, but the sight of the last victim standing alive and well—albeit shaking like a threatened coward—amongst the others gives us some confidence. At least, it's supposed to. Whoever's life is linked to my brother's still has to get home. There's not much I can do to keep calm knowing that.

Then again, I almost doubt there really are magical connections between the lot of us. Is something so absurd truly at the heart of this? If magic can't even make one person fall in love, how can it be good for anything else? I'm really more on America's side here—

No. I'm not. I just think some sort of technology is probably responsible. I haven't worked out the details, but no one on the magic side has figured everything out, either. Maybe we never will.

"No takers?" Romania asks again.

"Romano," Italy pleads, looking up at him earnestly.

"That's not such a good idea," the other cautions, rocking back on his heels. He shoots a brief but meaningful glance at Norway, who responds likewise. I can only think of one reason for their hesitation—that whomever Romano has to kill is just as weakened as he is.

"But—" the younger Italian tries to object, only to be cut off by Norway.

"With the way things are arranged here, we've decided it's best if Romano leaves the island last," the Nordic explains calmly. "In fact, it would be wisest if _you _were actually the first to go."

"M-me?" Italy stammers. He glances frenetically between his brother, Germany, and the two magic users, growing more and more agitated as he realizes none of them are exactly protesting that he should stay.

"N-no! Someone else go first!" he cries. "I d-don't want to leave Romano! W-what if I leave and he tries to hurt himself again? What if—"

Romano curses. If it weren't for the fact that Italy swivels to look at him, I wouldn't even have registered his low, dead voice above the soft crashing of the waves.

"For fuck's sake, just _go_, damn it. Do you think you're helping by sitting here? I'll die happier without you here to get on my nerves."

"R-Romano!"

"I mean it, idiot. Get yourself out of here while you can." He coughs bitterly, shifting himself in the opposite direction from his brother. "At least you still have something to go home for."

"Don't talk like that! Things can still get better!"

Italy flings himself at Romano, arms spread wide, but the darker Italian pushes him away with what little resistance he can muster. It's not a very forceful shove, given his lack of much muscle even in the best of times, but Veneziano still appears betrayed as he plops backwards into the sand.

"I'll shove you harder next time if that's what it takes to knock some sense into you."

"T-then you'll just have to!" Italy protests. "Don't you remember what I told you before? I said—I said I wouldn't move until we were rescued or dead, and I—I meant it!"

Back decidedly turned, Romano refuses to respond.

"Italy," Germany cuts in gently, "I think you should listen to him."

Italy wheels around, expression pained. "Not you, too!"

"Just listen to me." The blonde places both hands on Italy's shaking shoulders with a deep sigh. His gaze drops, then returns, hardened with resolution, to his friend's face. "I want you to trust Romania and Norway. I've wasted a lot of time—time I could have spent searching for you and the others here—because I was too stubborn to take into account what they had to say. I don't want you or anyone else to have to pay for that mistake. It's taken a while, but I honestly believe that they're trying to do what's best for us—and—and that they know what they're doing."

"I take it that's an apology?" Romania puts in mischievously. Norway rolls his eyes.

Germany shoots them both a warning look. "This is about him, not you."

"If I go," Italy quavers, "y-you'll make sure Romano is safe?"

"As long as I can stay here, then yes, I will."

"P-promise?"

"Absolutely."

"O-okay, then." Italy's face is still terrified, but his jaw is set. "I'll go."

"All right, now to business!" Romania says. He pauses, making me wonder whether he's really so cruel as to drag this out for longer than necessary or if it's just the tension that's stretching the seconds into hours. Then, "Hungary, could you step forward?"

A quickly-stifled gasp comes from where she and Austria stand together. Hungary blanches, but pulls her hand calmly from Austria's shoulder and obeys the command.

As if it wasn't obvious enough already, Romania announces that she is indeed the nation Italy has to kill.

Good. One more person doesn't have to kill Russia. I don't suppose there's much hope that my brother is exempt from having to die, but, then again, The Rules are hardly arranged predictably. If Japan played both victim and executioner to himself, then who's to say some of the others don't have to be killed at all?

And perhaps it's selfish of me to put my brother's well-being above that of anybody else here, but who can judge me for it? After all, Switzerland did essentially the same thing, and I don't see anyone complaining.

I'm jerked out of my musings by a pitiful, high-pitched series of whimpers. Near the middle of the beach, Italy is fighting back tears, insisting he won't be able to shoot as Germany coaxes a small revolver into one of his broken hands. Hungary has knelt down in front of them. Austria stands a few feet away, spine rigid. Norway and Romania watch solemnly–-the latter not rejoicing over Hungary's misfortune for once—as the target pulls her long hair over her shoulders to expose her neck.

"It's all right, Italy," she says soothingly, only the slightest of tremors shaking her voice. "Just one quick shot—I'll be back before you know it."

"Y-you sure?"

"Positive."

Austria jerks as if to protest, but Hungary motions for him not to get any closer.

Suddenly, in my mind's eye, I'm seeing not Hungary but a more familiar girl kneeling in the sand, her curtain of hair blonde rather than brown, and the man standing on the beach does not try to run to me, no matter how much I want him to. I try to shake the vision out of my head, but it's sunk in its claws, refusing to part. A question prickles at my mind—would I be brave enough to die, alone, should that be my fate?

…Stop it! I-idiot. With any luck, I won't have to find out, so why dwell on it?

Lithuania looks at me somewhat concernedly—was I muttering out loud?—but I just glare at him and try to return my focus to the current situation. Just because I might lose my grip on reality sometimes doesn't mean I need or want his help.

Italy's on the verge of sobbing right now, despite both Germany's and Hungary's attempts to calm him down. His past and present caregiver exchange a meaningful look; then Hungary leans in to wrap her arms around the hysterical young man. Lured into the comforting embrace, Italy buries his tear-stained face in her shoulder. The hand clenched around the gun drops to his side.

"It's okay, it's okay," she breathes. "It's almost over."

Unseen by Italy, she directs a swift, curt nod at the German.

In one fluid movement, Germany seizes Italy's arm and forces it upright towards Hungary's chest. A gunshot ends their brief struggle.

Italy yelps in dismay, but it's too late. He's already gone, horror-struck face fading into nothingness, before Hungary coughs up her first spatter of blood. Her support having vanished, she keels forward, hands scrabbling at the embedded bullet in a vain effort to wrench it out. However, it's Austria's arms that lower her gently to the ground, and his hands that almost lovingly slide the projectile from her prone form before carrying her towards the aircraft.

Even though I try not to think of it, I can't help but imagine the black-gloved hands of my brother doing the same thing for me.

Our two resident magicians aren't going to let me devote another moment to thought, however. No sooner has the whirring of the helicopter blades started up then Norway clears his throat and the ever-present tension doubles.

"We need to keep this moving along," the Scandinavian says as we watch the small black speck dwindle away in the sky. "Poland, Estonia, which of you wants to go first?"

He turns his attention to the group of Eastern European nations clustered near the tree line. I'm not sure if Estonia's memory's failing him again or if he's just slow, but Poland's hand shoots into the air first. A flicker of amusement passes through Lithuania's perpetually-anxious expression, though it quickly reverts to normal.

"You sure?" Romania asks the blonde.

"Course, why not?" Poland shrugs unconcernedly, though the rush of his words doesn't quite match his usual obnoxious flippancy. "I'd rather get home sooner than later. How long have we been here—like, six weeks? It's about time we got off this stinking island. Never got to make that rad tree house complex, but—"

"And it's okay with you, Estonia?" Lithuania cuts across his friend's babble for the sake of the other Baltic.

"What is?"

It's all I can do to stop from gritting my teeth. Accursed memory lapses! Please, just let me know that neither of these two fools has to kill Russia!

If Lithuania's as edgy as I am, though, he doesn't show it as he patiently reminds Estonia of our current situation.

"You never said that," Estonia insists, straightening his glasses pointlessly—as far as I know, he still can't see out of them. "But, yes, it's fine by me, so long as I can go next."

"And please hurry," Latvia puts in anxiously.

"Will do," Romania comments. "Poland, if you're done now—" the aforementioned nation ceases his prattling and turns his attention to the speaker—"the one you have to kill is Germany."

For the second time today, the stress building up in my body thaws like spring ice. One more nation poses no threat. Only two left to go, and with any luck, my brother and I can go home in one piece.

Germany's not quite so relieved, but apart from an almost imperceptible twitch at his name he handles it well. Betraying no emotion, he rises to his feet and strides over to the scarlet patch of sand we seem to have designated our sacrificial altar. He kneels as Hungary did; then, as if having forgotten something, cranes his neck back upwards to face Romania and Norway.

"Thank you," the German says stiffly, "for making Italy go first. This would be far more difficult if he was here." He turns his attention to the group at large. "Please, do whatever you can to look after Romano. Keep the adrenaline on hand in case he passes out. Make sure whoever he has to kill is prepared and stays nearby. Japan, America—can I trust you to watch out for him?"

They both nod, America more enthusiastically.

"You have my gratitude." Germany pauses, seeming to mull something over, then, "And, again, Norway, I'm sorry for—"

Norway simply nods. "You can tell us once you've come back."

Seemingly overwhelmed by his outpouring of emotion, Germany jerks his head in a nod and turns back to his killer-to-be.

"Whenever you're ready."

Poland starts to say something, turns it into a nervous laugh, and scrambles to retrieve the gun dropped by Italy. He still doesn't seem completely himself as he returns to the center of the beach.

"You're sure about this?" Lithuania asks anxiously, hovering several steps between Poland and the two other Baltics.

"Mm-hmm," Poland replies distractedly, occupying himself with clicking off the safety.

"Because, if you're nervous, just remember that he was one of the first to leave, so his immortality should still be pretty high."

"I know, Lithy."

"I just don't want you to be afraid—"

"I _know!_" A flicker of genuine fear emerges through what he's struggling to keep as a casual tone. "Stop making it worse!"

Lithuania opens and closes his mouth without saying a word.

Poland manages a smile. "Yes, Poland is kinda worrying about something. I must be spending too much time around you, huh?"

Turning away, Poland places the gun directly in front of Germany's forehead.

"I'll tell Italy hi, okay?"

Before the German nation can respond, Poland sends the bullet tearing through his brain. He collapses instantaneously and unceremoniously to the ground. His killer can do little more than glance at the blood leaking through the sand before he, too, is gone.

…It's a funny thing, isn't it, death? I've certainly seen and caused no shortage of it—and not just on this island—yet some things about it just never seem to sink in. No one ever meets their end quite the same way, for instance. There's Germany, dead without even time to cry out, and then there's Hungary, who writhed around in the sand for a bit, and then countless more I've watched go slowly, either cherishing the presence of loved ones around them or lingering on alone. You'd think that nations would go with a bit more dignity than the average person—something more befitting how long we've been around and how much we represent—but if there's one thing I've learned on this island, it's that death is all too similar for us.

Is it just because of the draining immortality, I wonder? Or has it always been this way? I try to remember some of the times I've died in the past century, but they all seem to blur together. Too many gunshots and slow hours of starvation to distinguish one from the other. As for nations who I know to have fallen, they're always either killed in battle or just sort of disappear. I've never seen any die for good—unless the latest two don't come back, of course—so I suppose I can't really tell…

"Belarus?" Russia asks hesitantly. "Are you listening?"

"What?" I didn't realize the others had started up again. I must have been distracted for a while, if it's gotten to the point when even Russia is willing to address me. Not that I mind, but now really isn't the time for spacing out. Not when I need to know my brother will be safe.

"Ah—well, they are saying that—"

"You're the one Estonia has to kill," Norway says flatly.

"Me?"

Every sound on the island other than Norway's voice has been extinguished. I can hardly hear my own monosyllabic response over the blood beginning to pound in my ears. He can't have said what I thought he did, can he?

His reply verifies that he did.

…So this is it, then. After years—centuries, really—of killing and being killed, after getting lucky enough to cut the throat of the very person I needed to escape, after practically crying with joy when Russia got home and we realized we were both safe, it all might be over. Somehow I was so preoccupied with the thought of Russia being the possible victim that I never really considered myself dying instead. It makes sense, though, doesn't it? I left the island so early; I only died once here, and that was something I'd agreed to. Estonia never even had a chance.

Until now. The bespectacled nation is stumbling over to where I stand, the gun hanging at his side. The thought of its cold, rusty barrel pressed against my hair ignites a chain of unpleasant memories. Gunned down defending the front in the first Great War. Targeted by a sniper in the Second. Punished in an alleyway for hoisting my own flag. Such an uncivilized way to die, really. And so horribly familiar.

No. If these are to be my last moments, I will live them how I see fit.

"Wait!" I cry, springing over to Estonia and seizing the gun as it's passed into his hands. Startled by my sudden appearance, he instinctively jerks it closer, but I'm stronger. "Not with that. Use a knife instead."

What better way to die than by my own weapon of choice? There's something terribly poetic about it. And the swift, clean cut of the blade allows far more dignity than the blast of a bullet.

Estonia just gawks as I slip one of my prized knives into his hand and sink to my knees.

"I-if you want," he says uncertainly. "You're sure you wouldn't rather—"

"I think I'm sure about my own death!" I hiss. "Now do it!"

"I'll need someone to help me," Estonia mumbles. "I can't see where you are. Lithuania…?"

Glancing back and forth between me and his fellow Baltic, Lithuania shakes his head in distress. For once, I can't fault him. Goodness knows I would never be able to help kill the one I love.

"I-I'll do it," Latvia volunteers timidly, making his way over.

The short blonde presses the handle more firmly into Estonia's palm and maneuvers it so the sharp edge faces my neck. All at once, I can't stop the rush of questions from coursing through my mind. What happens if this is really the end? Where will I go? Is there a heaven for nations, just as there is for our subjects? Would any of us really deserve to go there? Would _I?_

"Russia," I call, all of a sudden more terrified than I ever thought I could allow myself to be. "Can you hold my hand?"

"I—uh—"

Unwilling to the end, then? I suppose I never really expected anything different…

"Please, do it for me?" I prompt; because I know it's the only way he'll listen, I add: "As my brother?"

"Er—all right, then. Sis."

I've closed my eyes by now, but I can sense rather than hear his heavy footfalls approaching. His shadow drapes over me like a shroud as he kneels; then comes the soft pressure of his large hands around my own. The moment I've always waited for is to be my last.

"Do it now."

The blade strikes, and I know no more.


End file.
